When I see my name written down
It doesn't feel like my own
it feels more like it belongs
to a soul,
too far long gone
When I see my face in a puddle
or catch a glimpse in the mirror
it doesn't feel like my own
I don't recognize the traveller
but yet he looks back at me
like I am one of his own.
Yet still, I wonder who I am
beyond the shadow and the skin,
a whisper lost in time's vast span,
searching for the place within
the echoes of a forgotten song
resound beneath my skin
reminding me I carry on
a story waiting to begin.
So I hold my name with gentle care
and meet my mirror's gaze
knowing somewhere deep out there
my true self waits in the haze.
