I long to be a blank space in your history. I long for your touch, for your fingers to twist and pull at the strands of my signature. Say my name. Your silence is my death. Your silence presses my bones deeper into earth, dirt dampening the cries in my lungs. Say my name. My son was king, my son survives. My son is not I, I am not my son nor my daughters nor their dynasty. Say my name.