Sometimes i wonder if i exist in someone else's sketchbooks,
a tiny drawing of me living.
My life captured by learning hands

I think about the pictures people hold on their phones or albums,
The ones i didn't realize existed but still have a little moment of who i am

How many spaces have i filled that i simply didn't know about ?
I want to count them all and know, see how much i breathe in others' eyes But

I'm okay with me
I exist for me
I don't need that kind of comfort except for curiosity.