Lyric

The feeling of wind brushing your skin. A lost item sitting where no one walks. A typo on a shop sign. Being happy just because the weather is nice.
I want to hold onto all of these tiny moments without letting any slip away, but memory is just too imperfect-by the time I notice something, I've already half-forgotten it.
If who I am is shaped by what I see and feel in these passing days, then forgetting might mean continuously losing the very thing that makes me, me. That's a frightening thought.
So I keep writing it all down. Because I believe it's the best way to trace the outline of who I am.