Names are important to me.
Hi, Upasa, nice to meet you. I'm--
I receive your name on my palm,
Fold my fingers over it, gently.
When you leave, I put it in my pocket.
If you come back, unannounced, and find me hastily searching my pockets, this is why.

I'm a collector of names.
Some, I put in the top drawer of my nightstand,
Others I tuck in between the pages of my diary,
And yet others lie scattered across my room,
The hallway, the street I walked through.
I'm a collector of names, but
I'm terrible at remembering them.
Perhaps because I rarely empty my pockets before putting my clothes to wash.
Perhaps because even more rarely will you find me actually saying your name --
Names are scary to me.
Collecting them is easy, but putting them to my lips, my tongue, and sometimes swallowing them whole...
It's daunting,
Isn't it?

I love names,
I have a habit of collecting names, and never speaking of them again.
Oi, bro, yaar, cutie, fren...
It's how that wine dude from Percy Jackson said - names are
Powerful.
Your name, I revere it.
I love it, I hate it, I adore it, I fear it.
There are some names that feel like sins to hold on my tongue
And then there are others that I feel don't deserve such an honour.
There are names stuck on my throat like a fishbone,
Others that I love the taste of and simply can't get enough of --
If I were any braver,
Perhaps I would've listed some here for all to see,

But names are intimate to me.
Secrets tucked away in the top drawer of my nightstand,
Between the pages of my diary,
Scattered across my room, the hallway, the street...
I will whisper your name when you aren't there,
Wondering why calling you by your name comes so naturally to some people,
While I stutter, shudder, smile on having to say [insert your name].

I have a weird habit, dude.
I love collecting names, yaar,
But it's just so difficult to--
Hey, buddy, when did you get here?
How are you, mate?
How's your sister? What was her
Name, again?