Have you ever looked at a word, or said it over and over until the word became so unfamiliar, so foreign, that it made you cringe? That you had to concentrate to even grasp the meaning of the once common word? As a child, I did this often. Fork. Road. Sonic. I would sit and stare at a word, saying it over and over in my head.
I did that with your name. I saw it in print somewhere. A common name. One I've heard many times in reference to you. One I've spoken in love. One I've used as a curse. I stared at it until my eyes began to burn. I let it bounce around the cavity of my mind reserved for once fond memories. Its path soon ceased and settled in unfamiliar territory. What was once a name I held so closely to my heart--one that was on my lips so constantly--was utterly unfamiliar. I did not recognize it. And in not recognizing your name, I did not recognize you.
For those few moments, I found peace. A place beyond where memories of you lie. You were gone, and I was happy.