… This name that was mine from the beginning.
In every beginning an ending is written.
It is one of the very first things I told you. When I would lie naked in your arms, spinning my stories. The mind of a poet, and the body of a goddess, you once said against my chest – and I wrapped this description like a gift. It was rare for you to be so gracious with your definitions, Mack.
I did not know that it would end like this.
(It was so easy to name you. I knew him. And then I met you. The recognition was instant.
And you never, ever did send me roses. Just like I forgot to keep my head.)