At first, it frightened him.
He stopped strangers along the road and asked,
Do you know me? Do you know who I am?
But no one had an answer.
Years passed. Roads changed. Cities disappeared behind the horizon.
And one day, sitting beside an ancient path, he realized something strange.
Everything he remembered was only what he had once been. A name. A story. A collection of roles and memories.
But what he truly was had never fit inside a name.
For the first time, he stopped searching for an answer.
He simply sat in silence.
And as the wind moved through the branches above him, he thought he heard something very old.
Not his name.
But his presence.
Because there are journeys on which we do not forget who we are.
There are journeys on which we forget everything we were never meant to be.
