...Convincing?

​

I do not rise or fall by a single moment.

I am not a fleeting second.

I am a story,

            crafted by the decades.

 

I am not corporeal, and I am not just scars or skin.

You cannot tether me,

Just as you cannot tether the wind.

 

I may have bumps and bruises—

Some you can see, and some you can’t.

And somehow that’s still not enough to prove

I’m not just some one-off dream.

 

What makes you real? What makes me me?

The skin,

            The scars,

                        The bruises,

                                    The dreams that never seem to end?

 

Who am I?

 

Who are you?

 

Who are we?