I don’t know his name. Perhaps a name is the first digital and verbal label we receive to create the structure called “I.” Over time, all roles fall away, leaving us face to face with our own emptiness.

 

Nobody637 has only a number. I don’t know if he’s a prisoner or if he’s imprisoned himself. He’s holding a golden rope—gold is supposed to symbolize value and light, but one can become a slave even to that which is beautiful. Sometimes the path to freedom becomes yet another form of enslavement.

 

The figure does not look at us. It turns in the only direction left when external answers are no longer enough: inward. That is why it has no face. It remains a question. Perhaps only when we stop being everything we pretended to be do we discover who we truly are.