You are the folded pages of your secret diary. You are the paper boats made of old drawing pages. You are what you write in the margins of your notebook. You are the fear you face in a dark room. You are what you do first thing on a Sunday morning. You are what you steal from the fridge when no one is looking. You are the average of all that you rediscover on opening an old drawer. You are what you do when it rains out of season. You are how you react to a pound gained. You are what you laugh at. You are what you hum. You are the way you look at the sea. You are what you are when you wake up. And most of all, You are everything but what you write on your resume of what you think you are.