People are leaves
We fall and we fight
We grow and change
We are old and young
Some are more vibrant than others
But all some do, is float through life.
People are metaphors.
We are things, unlikely things joined together in one sentence
Just waiting to be read
And appreciated.
We want attention
And demand to be beautiful.
We just want a reader who cares enough.
People are flakes of snow.
So unique
But uniquely similar
Lost in a sea of thousands
Waiting
Just waiting
To find the fate they have
Just floating,
Being beautiful.
Being them.
Because we're not just people.
But much more.
So much more.
That it seems almost inappropriate to be called "people"
