I only want to know your name.there is a drizzle of homemade jamon this memory i think i have,like a hug under construction.reaching out, butstopping mid-air.hello?i want to ask you your nameand whether caring for sunflowersis as difficult as it seems,whether you have to breathe the yellow inand out for it to keep livinglike there would be no end to the madness,like you could pluck out a yellowing syllablefrom behind an old lover’s earand the whisper would have fadedbut the scent would have stayed.i want to ask you if sometimes when you forget all the words,do you still remember the shapes?and when you forget all the sunflowers,do you still remember the yellow?i want to ask you if there was nothing to documentthe first time we held our hands out to each otheror reached out for a hug,would you scroll down like it never happenedor would you backspace to the point of our precise meeting?if i ask you whether sunflower dustcan preserve all our memories,would you crushthe life out of one of these damned flowersto prove your point about absolute disintegrationor would you say ‘only if you want it to?’because i want it toi want to tell you that sunshine lanesare sometimes more memoriesthan sunshine itselfand if you keep walking for long enough,you will discoverthat sunflowers have enough yellow to resurrect all the lives you’ve livedand all the people you’ve lived them withwhich brings me to my original questiondo you remembermy namebecause i rememberforgetting to ask you yours.