Silence Asked My Name?

I spoke to the child I used to be,
piecing together the dreams we used to see.
Silence knocked softly at my door,
as the ticking hands stopped on the clock once more.

It asked my name, interrogating me,
searching the person I’m meant to be.
My fearful veins outgrew hopeful wings,
yet even through concrete a small plant springs.

What I had lost was not the same,
yet loss alone cannot kill the flame.
I built a fortress around my name,
so even death could not stare the same.

Building myself all over again,
I ask the question again and again:
Where am I? What do I claim?
And tell me—what’s truly in a name?