Sarah.

No one says my name the way she does. She whispers it to me, treating it as gold. The three syllables pour over my senses, the eight letters entangle in the hair that drapes like red silk over my face. As her lips move, my serenade slips from them; serene emotions sliding down my skin with her fingertips.

As others beckon me, stress works its way into my pores. The once familiar phrase becoming shrill, nails on a chalkboard, nothing comparing to the silk and gold she gives me. Tension and nostalgia fill me as others speak, as I miss her tone, her speech, her voice. Indifference fills me from crown to soles. The lacking emotion, replaced by love as her voice echoes through my system. She takes my heart in her hand with a single word. Spelling out out lifetime with the correct pronunciation.

Her name is Sarah.