I have no name. No home. No past. Only the taste of vanished cities on my tongue, only the echo of voices that once knew me, now swallowed by time.

I walk like ruin, like something history has already buried. The wind does not carry me home. The earth does not know my weight. Even the stars "those cold, distant witnesses have turned their backs.

I have begged the night to remember me, whispered my name into the mouths of rivers, pressed my hands to the dirt like a prayer. But the world does not answer. The world does not care.

I am exile. I am absence. I am the silence after the storm, the footprints already fading, the shadow of a man no one waits for.

If I disappear tonight, let the wind scatter my bones like forgotten songs, let the rain wash my name into the sea, where even the lost become less than a memory, less than dust, less than a dream no one dared to keep.