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Old paper folds where fingers pressed
A quiet place your past confessed
The corners bent the ink turned pale—
Yet still those words can tell the tale
The notes you wrote when days were cold
The margins where your secrets hold
Each dot each mark each trailing line—
Records the way you learned to shine
No voice is louder than the pen
No truth more raw than written then
Your story’s not in grand display
But in the lines you lived each day
So keep those pages soft with wear
Your history is written there
The moments you thought no one knew
Are resting now still close to you
