I am the old book drowned in the piles of papers in your library. My pages are folded, your handwriting scarred me, and your sticky notes ruined me.
I am the passage you quote to your child, the beautifully written words you once memorized in full page, the lyrics you had fallen in love with years ago.
I am the friend you first made in kindergarten, the one you shared your cookies with, and the one who called you best friend. I am the security in your self esteem, the understanding that you were worthy of being noticed and loved, and the push forward you needed to make more friends.
I am the torn up dress you wore to your first piano recital. The bright pink you used to love so much, the happy color you chose to accompany you on the stage, years before you decided that magenta was your favorite.
I am the pair of running shoes you wore during your high school track and field training hours, the one you treated like a pet, and the one you cried for when I was damaged and unable to run with you anymore.
I am the push, the spirit, the motivation, and strength.
I am the force of little things that made you who you are.
And do you still remember me? Or am I just a force felt and forgotten?