NAME

"You have a beautiful name. Your parents must be big art fans." I rehearse those words in mind every time I catch a glimpse of you and I ready myself to talk about something in case I get caught in a situation where I am forced to strike a conversation. I was thinking that art would be most likely the thing we would have in common. I'm not a hardcore fan though, save for some mainstream painters. I don't even know much about the painter with the same name as yours except literally for his name. The conversation would not be forced, however. I always wanted a small talk with you. The first time you walked in and got introduced, I just smiled and said to myself, "wow". Something about you intrigues me. Was it just your name? I wanted so much to find out.

No small talk ever happened though. I thought maybe I just wasn't fit enough to be in your intellectual world. Going six years forward from that first encounter, I discovered you weren't named after that painter at all. And nor did your parents give it to you. That small talk, if it happened, must have been very embarrassing then. But maybe not. Because I could have carried on asking you to tell me more about you, instead of hearing just a faint "yes, thank you" from you. But it was not bound to happen.

Today, I'm still thrilled to call you by your name. It gives me the chills. It rolls into my tongue like soft fresh snow in the early morning. It paints my lips into a smile like seeing a warm sunrise from a breathtaking skyline. It's beautiful. It suits you perfectly. Sometimes, when I get carried away, I tend to call you by some other names. You don't like any of them though. But maybe that's fine. With every letter pronounced the way you said it should be, I pronounce the deepest emotions that no other name in this world can replace, no matter how sugar-coated they may sound. Your name is the sweetest. Your name is my weakness. Because when I call you by your name, I know you're the only one. #