It doesn't seem like a name anymore.
Just letters.
Or if you named a pile of dust.
Go back in time, whisper in her ear, "Do it."
She could have done it, if she actually tried.
Wasting her energy.
It doesn't seem like I am looking at a name anymore.
Just staring at a blank page of a history book that used to fascinate you, when you were young.
It doesn't seem like a person anymore, the happiest of drugs is oxygen, can't get enough, can you, darling?

I like to dream sad things sometimes.
I was singing.
He was running.
I was singing.
He was crying.
I was singing.
He was screaming.
I was singing.
"Stop!"
The train was going.
The rain was pouring.
I was singing.
He was running.
The train was going.
I wasn't singing anymore.
He wasn't running anymore.
The train kept going.
The rain kept pouring.
I wasn't singing anymore.

I like to dream happy things, too.
He made the most important promise of his life.
After he left me.
Maybe he just didn't want me to cry.
He wanted me to believe that the aeroplane wouldn't crash, that he wouldn't drop me, names breaking, hearts forgetting.
But I wanted so much to believe.
Then I woke up.

I said one word.
From A to Z.
From Z to A.
Over and over and over again.
Until it didn't seem like a word anymore.
Over and over and over again.