I always hesitated whenever I had to say your name. I had a fear that everyone could hear how lovingly, or hurtfully—I’m not sure anymore, I don’t think it even mattered—I said it; everyone but myself. So then I only had the courage to mumble it out, tumbling its way over my tongue, through my teeth, and between my barely-parted lips. I hope you understood why I couldn’t say your name. It was always just at the tip of my tongue.