You walked this path before I did, unfrazzled and innocent to the dangers that we seem to attract. You built your home before I did, and weaved your dreams like an unsinkable ship. That was your mistake. You trusted the world too much. You had no idea, not until you were snatched out from the comfort of your bed and hanged upside down from a tree. Not until you were burned at stake, by the very people you tried to protect. I still don’t know your name.
I woke up drenched in sweat from a nightmare that should no longer frighten me because they were mere repeats of every night’s interrupted slumber. Nightmares that are no match for what reality has in store. Yes, reality is more threatening, because it’s logical. Because the evilness isn’t just weaved from distorted imagery and besieged memory.
Are you buried somewhere in this lonely earth undiscovered and forgotten? Will your bones suddenly turn up in one excavation too many, like a story reaching out beyond centuries, and beyond a hundred lifetime? Maybe then, you can tell me your name.
All I know is that I’m not alone. Not in the face of betrayals and not in the face of broken dreams. You’ve faced them before I did. Made the mistakes I should have made. And each night as I awaken from another disturbing dream, I’d sigh because again, I’ve forgotten to ask your name