what will you remember of me when i'm gone? / will you remember the way my smile / glowed on my cheeks / and the small valleys that formed on my cheeks / that i got from my grandmother / will you remember the way i laughed / throwing my head back / wanting to feel every bit of warmth? /
/ what will humans remember of you when you are gone? / will they remember the things you want them to remember? / do the things you want them to remember / actually exist? / i am caught up with my obsession / with the self / and identity / and i've chased it for so long / trying to define myself / that i have lost all meaning of what it means / to be myself /
and what does it matter of what people remember of you? / do you remember yourself? / do you even know yourself? /
what even is the self / is it made up of the little worlds / of every individual / and are you formed in the tangible world / by their perceptions? / or do you exist in your own world / and you are the only world that exists / and everyone else is there to simply / play a part in your life
is the self made of memories? / is there a self that still dwells in yesterday? / a self that exists in the future / waiting for you to catch up? / do you even exist? / is the present self only a self stuck / in the crossroads between yesterday and tomorrow /
/ there is too many meanings of self / i have tried to find myself to the point / that i have drew myself into oblivion / perhaps the self is waiting in oblivion / waiting for you to join it.
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the soft
Poesíathey say to be soft is to be powerful but it gets harder to believe that every passing day
