The whisper that is your name.

A whisper pierces the air

To hear it; I do not dare.

It suggests that I have not moved on,

That I am stuck in the past.

It suggests that I cannot face a new dawn

And I instead seek to raise my memory ship’s mast.

But who do the whispers allude to

Is it the girl with brown eyes or is it the one with blue?

Is it the one with the freckles on her cheek?

Or the one who above my shoulder could not peek.

Is it about the one with whom my future was mapped out?

Or the one who could overcome my protests with nothing but a pout.

Her name only I know.

The rumours are more than welcome to grow.

This is all I shall say;

She is the one I will follow into the dark at the end of the day.

She is the one I will keep with me, whether I be in London or Calgary.

She is the centrepiece of my memory.

She is the sweet and serene reverie.

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