I am made of memory , of places that never asked to be remembered, of light that once touched me and stayed. Every breath, a fragment of time still learning how to let go. I carry echoes of moments that never spoke my name, soft traces of laughter folded into silence. The wind moves through me like an old language, one I no longer understand but still feel. I am stitched together by shadows and warmth, by everything that chose to fade and everything that didn’t. I am made of memory , not bound by the past, but born from its light.