“I’ve wasted too many hours,
Too many hours saying your name
Hoping that you’ll hear me
Over the sound of the cars and highways we drove on,
Your hand in mine;
Over the sound of the buzzing insects
In the field full of those tiny flowers
You told me weren’t nearly as beautiful as I was.
Over every little thing we shared.
The problem is I keep saying your name,
Hoping that you’ll hear me,
Over the cry of our memories and the distance that has grown
Like an impossible entanglement of ivy between us.
But you blocked out those sounds so long ago,
I don’t even think you remember how to say my name.”

—  a.p., tell me you remember