when i was younger, i strongly disliked any semblance of the name 'margaret' because i didn't like how it made me seem old despite how juvenile i was. a lot of times, i would wish that i was named differently-- maybe the same name but with an additional 'te' at the end or maybe something completely new, something cool like 'ziggy' or 'eurydice' or anything that would make anyone feel like they were on the cusp of finding something new in me.
today i decided to finally clean my room. different knick knacks and petals from graduation and my dad's 59th scattered all across the floor as i sat on my bed, flipping through every single letter i've ever received. different sentiments lurked in every piece of paper i held in my hands. a happy birthday here, an i love you there, but one thing persisted: the lines looped and bent around different variants of the name i used to hold so much dislike for.
when you're as celebrated and well-loved as i am, you tend to find it hard to pick yourself apart and find the wounds that pulse and bleed. and when your name is written in a dozen different variants, in curves and twitches from hands that don't belong to you but still hold yours anyway, you don't find the love in the letters. you find it in the ink blotted lines of your name on paper.