i cannot bear
the syllables of you,
falling from foreign lips
a name borrowed,
but never truly yours
no shadow of you
should roam these streets,
no echo of your laughter
linger in rooms
where you do not live
if someone must mirror your face,
let their name be yours.
if their smile wears your shade,
let it be claimed by your sun
for what is a name,
but a river that flows only to you?
and what is love,
but a refusal to let the world
borrow your existence,
even for a moment?
let no one else carry
the weight of your syllables,
no voice but mine
call them to life.
for you are not a name.
you are the silence
that breathes between the letters,
the pause that lingers,
the ache that remains.
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