My name? My name is yours. I walk back and forth, as do you, with my mind wondering and my heart searching. What do I see? I see the same as you. I blink once or twice and the new is in and I am out with the old. The buildings seem to touch heavens and yet I'm stuck in someones rear view mirror struggling to escape from a mudpit. What do I know? No more than the next I assume. The birds find the way south, the ants find the way to their food, but yet I find myself lost in my own thoughts. And I call myself smart? I call myself more than the birds of the air or the ants of the land?
My heart beats to the sound of my culture. I am who my culture says I am. I move to the beat of a drum that feeds the business, and I call myself smart? I call myself new wave or independent? I am who the culture claims me to be. So, what purpose is for me? Do I only live to eat your food and drink your wine? Do I only see to behold your entertainment?
My name? It is your name. It contains letters and spaces. It contains hopes and dreams. Who are we though if the culture names us? If the culture defines us than who must we be? Just the cult children of a weak and dying system?
The birds find the way south and the ants dance without worry to their home, but yet I pity my sufferings and lose heart in the midst of my own thoughts. I let a culture name me. I poison my lungs with the smoke of my generation. But I must find my name. We must find our names. For they do not just contain dying letters, but a hope for love that the birds of the air nor the ants of the land can grasp.
My name? It spells hope. Our names? They spell love.
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