Your Secret Is Safe With Me

"They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time." 

-Banksy

You would never tell anyone your full name. No matter how much people begged, you always kept your middle name a secret. You told me that once somebody knows your full name, then they own a part of you that you can never get back. I thought that was complete bullshit. And I semi-knew you thought so as well. You just didn't want to admit you had "trust issues." Keeping your middle name a secret was a way to keep people out. If they didn't know your middle name, they really couldn't know you. It was the last line of defense.

I admit now, I thought you were an idiot. It was probably the only time I did but I felt justified. I was not given a middle name and it was something I've always ached for. I was denied something that helps identify who I am. You were given this extra name and you kept it a secret from the world.

When the time came for you and I to go our separate ways, me back home for the summer and you off to boot camp, you gave me a letter. You made me promise three times that I wouldn't read it until I got back home. I kept my promise (which was something you taught me) and waited until I was back in my room in Provo to read it. It was about four pages filled with your "seizure-esque" handwriting. I had also promised to never tell anyone what was in that letter, another promise I have kept. And while what your wrote has got me through a lot the past three years, nothing mattered more to me than the very end.

Under the word "Sincerely" you wrote your name, your full name. I know what you meant by doing that. It was something neither of us could say using words. A secret finally revealed to someone who understood the significance of it.

To this day, I have never told anyone your middle name. The way I figure it, it's not mine to tell.

So don't worry, love.
Your secret is safe with me.

Love you.

Mean it.