You will write my name with all the letters, with all the dates 

But that will not be me.

 

You’ll repeat what you heard of me what you read about me,

And you will show my picture 

And none of that will be me.

 

We are a unique and complex oneness made of many tiny moments

That would be me.

 

We’re a thousand pieces, part of a mysterious game,

We come together, we grow apart, eternally

 

How will they ever find me?

 

We’re new and old each day, transparent and opaque, depending on the source of light 

We search for ourselves.

And we flow through circumstances, light and free as water cascading through stones.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 "People are looking for their tales inside themselves. Without tales people can’t live their lives" Murakami