It's kind of weird to think.
About how people change.
But it's not generally because of themselves.
Unless they mean it to be.
People around you.
Input pieces of their souls
Into everyone around you.
Isn't it weird to think about?
Maybe you saw his fingers tapping,
Or her biting her lip,
Or them saying something that made you laugh.
And then a few weeks later,
You find yourself doing the same thing.
People input pieces of their souls
Into everything they do.
In an English essay, you can hear their voice,
In the way they write.
If you listen hard enough.
If you read the things I write.
You can tell little things about me.
Like the fact that I see the good in people,
And the fact that I'm young and in school.
Or the fact that the characters I write about
They exist everywhere in my mind.
My friends are often in my words,
Speaking through everything I say.
My words shape who I've become,
And the things I do become less fun,
Until you realize your soul is spreading too,
When you see someone reading a poem.
When you see someone covering their face with their hair,
Or reading the book you just read.
When you see someone who's singing classic rock,
Looking at you once again.
If you see someone copying your stride,
Or the way you hold your bags.
Or the way you mess with your fingers as you're nervous.
Just know it's not you who's inside.
We're all different people,
Sharing our souls,
Not knowing exactly where they're going,
Not at all.
Yet it's not hard to tell who someone is.
From the pieces of soul you find.