Please use my name when you address me.
I will hear all the words you speak, again, when the time comes to lay my head down.
It sounds so delicate, wrapped gently in your voice.
I want to clutch it in my head, black and silken, stitched just so around the edges of the way you call me.
I want it to echo through me, bursting like claps of thunder, and calmly like the pitter-patter of soft rains.
This way, when all I have left is my name, it will be clothed in your softest tones, as if it’s better unsaid unless spoken by you.