I used to be someone.

Are the details of our lives who we are, or is it owning those details that makes the difference?

There are many words and definitions I have never lost. But some I am only just beginning to truly understand.

But I am more than a name. More than they tell me

Chance. It weaves through our lives like a golden thread, sometimes knotting, tangling, and breaking along the way. Loose threads are left hanging, but the in and out, the back and forth continues, the weaving goes on. It doesn't stop.

I used to be someone.

I just think perfection and lasting through the ages is for Greek statues, not us mere humans.