Never forget who you are. We crouch near a rock covered in several types of moss. I support your body as you lean over the vibrant layers. Your pudgy little fingers explore, gently weaving between fern-like fronds, slowly plucking dried pine needles from the soft green bed. I see the fascination in your eyes and I want to tell you that, like the moss, you are made of raindrops and sunrays and damp earthen minerals. I want to beg you never to forget it, but I bite back the plea and let the moss and the rock and the old pine needles tell you instead.
Who You Are
Who You Are
Who You Are
Never forget who you are. We crouch near a rock covered in several types of moss. I support your body as you lean over the vibrant layers. Your pudgy little fingers explore, gently weaving between fern-like fronds, slowly plucking dried pine needles from the soft green bed. I see the fascination in your eyes and I want to tell you that, like the moss, you are made of raindrops and sunrays and damp earthen minerals. I want to beg you never to forget it, but I bite back the plea and let the moss and the rock and the old pine needles tell you instead.