What’s in a name, anyway? I mean besides everything.

I wrote your name on the wall. I didn’t use the letters your mother gave you but it was your name. It was your name to me. It was not the name I gave you. That name was a secret.

If I wrote it down it would happen. Those walls were my vision boards. Everything I ever thought before being surrounded by those walls became patently untrue, so I drew elaborate spiderwebs to contain those letters that my mother gave me. The collective wisdom of too few years of life to actually call it wisdom.

But now I had seen nirvana. Now I could write everything in ink.

Your name was the first word I wrote.

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