We chatted once, long ago, all night at my favorite bar. I never asked your name, the conversation too much like that of old friends, and old friends don't call each other by name in conversation, they don't really call each other anything, so why did I need yours?
Life went by, and we bumped into each other from time to time. Always catching up, learning the names of people in and out of each other's lives, but never asking for ours. The beauty of hidden identities—we could live a sliver away from each other but never know.
But then I did learn your name. I learned it the same day everyone else did, complete with your photo attached. Everyone recognized me when I showed up—the friend with no name.
I should have told you sooner. Should have asked you sooner. Instead, since you'll never say mine, I'll never say yours, from now until the end of time.
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