Will I become just like you someday?
Faded and worn through?
Will I loose my soft comfort and warmness?
Throughout my life I have had holes, rips, and tears,
but nothing that couldn't be fixed.
Yet still, I was never quite the same.
I have been torn and lost parts of myself in my age.
I have had many parade me around,
and use me just like you.
We aren't the same,
and yet we are.
We can be patched over,
be made to look lively and beautiful.
But when the patches fade,
our seams show through,
and our past mistakes come into view.
Will we be put away, shut up, or thrown out?
When they feel we're useless,
will we be scouped up and thrown in the garbage?
In our most desperate hour of need,
our time to feel safe and needed,
is this what will happen?
Will you remember the happy or sad memories,
the beautiful or the ugly memories,
the precious or the disconcerning memories.
What will you remember when you're gone?
Will you remember anything?
Will your memories be cut up and used for parts?
Is this what you think?
Is this what you fear?
Is this what you know will happen when you die?
