Cosmic Ruler

The child wandered to the place where no names were kept.

A grove of wordless stones, each smooth and blank, grown not chiseled.

Visitors came here not to learn—but to un-name.

To lay down titles that had hardened too long on their backs.

One by one, they placed pieces of old selves beside the stones:

A crown no longer worn.

A page with a too-perfect signature.

A sword etched with a name that only meant war.

Each was laid down with a breath—not of loss, but of release.

The child carried nothing.

But as they passed, the stones hummed.