A Nameless Attempt

"Why do you have your own name written on your hand?"

"So I won't forget it."

"What if the rain washes it away?"

"I always carry a black marker. I'll write my name again on top of the stains and remains of ink."


-


"Do you ever wish you could be someone else?"

"Like who?"

"I don't know. Someone stronger."

"I couldn't. I only know how to write my own name with my marker."

Silence.

"I've been practising for years on how to write it just perfect."

"How does it look now?"

"Still imperfect."


-


"Why did you change to red markers?"

"I was out of black markers, so I tried a red one."

"Does it change anything?"

"It changes everything."

"It's just ink, though."

"It's my name, being absorbed by my skin and veins, sent into my bloodstream."

"What happens now?"

"I don't know."


-


"I brought you a black marker. You can have it, if you want."

"No thanks, I have plenty of red ones."

"I thought you loved black markers. You always used them."

"I like red ones better now. They stain less."

"I liked it when they stained."

"You were always around to fix that."

"Now your hand doesn't need fixing anymore."


-


"Why don't you ever write your name on your hand anymore?"

"I stopped trying to remember who I am."

"Then how do you know who you are?"

"I don't."

"Did you ever?"

"Did you ever know who you were?"

"I was the one who took care of the ink stains on your hand."

"It was just ink, though."


-


"I started writing my name on my hand."

"There's no use. A name is a limitation to who you are and could be."

"I just don't know anymore. I don't know who you are and I don't know who I am."

"Neither do I. We live this moment. Once it's over, we move on. What has to come is still undecided. That is what freedom is."

"Where does that leave me?"

"I don't know. But if you want, I'll help you fix your stains."