You tell me you’re a crumpled paper,
Parts of a story that’s faded away,
Tell me you’re not what you used to be.
But don’t you know we’re all the same way?
You tell me you’re an ancient story,
What you feel is not what you can say,
Tell me you’re nothing but faded words.
But don’t you know we’re all that way?
You tell me you’re imperfect,
That you can’t remember how to find your way,
Tell me that parts of you are missing.
Don’t you know we’re all that way?
You tell me you’re incomplete,
That not much of you remains,
Tell me there aren’t many of the old words left to read.
But don’t you know we’re all the same?
Don’t you know everyone’s incomplete,
Don’t you know everyone’s story has a few faded words?
Don’t you know everyone’s imperfect,
Don’t you know that’s how the world works?
The world works with what you are,
Not who you used to be.
The world needs the words you’ve managed to preserve,
Is that so hard to see?
So be who you can let yourself be,
Remember whatever you can.
And if there are a few missing memories,
try not to be hard on yourself.
Because you are the ink that remains
Amidst the faded words on a crumpled page.
And that’s what the world needs to write its story-
A few of your good words, and a few of mine
And a few more words from a few more pages,
So we can finally read it when it’s time.