It hurt like

I heard your name tonight.

It seemed to be rolling around on everyone's tongue.

I could taste you, too, through the drive-thru window,

knocking on the stars to see if they'd listen,

playing mad music to keep your eyes wide.

I heard your name tonight.

It had me on the floor,

with soft music on the radio,

thinking harder and harder until the white noise burst my ear drums,

and all the constellations matched up like electric wires,

lighting up my eyes more than Christmas could've.

I heard your name tonight.

And it hurt until it didn't,

like all the open wounds do.

It hurt like five years old, in the middle of the night,

but broke at the sound of my mother's voice.

It hurt like your mother's voice,

when you wake up at the wrong hour with yesterday's bad ideas on your sleeve.

But you kissed it goodbye with the close of a prayer.

It hurt like goodbyes on rewind,

playing them over and over and over again.

But it stopped once you let the movie run.

It hurt like a bad movie,

always worth knowing the end.

I heard your name tonight.

And it hurt like hell,

but it sounded like heaven.

And that's all I could've asked from you.