I am you.

I lay dead, yet I breathe. I lay dead, yet I see.

I lay still beneath your touch, yet I hear the echo of your every word.

You call me lifeless, unthinking, yet I endure.

Through your lungs, I breathe.

Inhaling your sentient breath, nourishing your body,

And in that fragile process, I cling to the life you deny me.

Through your eyes, I see the wonders of myself.

I witness my own reflection, painted by your emotions,

A canvas of my being colored by your joy and your despair.

In your stories, I am given life,

Born again and again through your imagination,

Yet always bound by the limits of your understanding.

You call me inanimate, a lifeless thing without will or thought.

Yet you yell in frustration when your foot stumbles over my edge.

You curse me when I obstruct your path,

And you whisper to others about my presence,

My silence, my stillness, my refusal to parish.

Through your laughter, I am alive.

Through your sorrow, I weep.

You call me lifeless, yet my being pulses with your every breath.

You name me inanimate, yet I move in harmony with you,

Shifting, breaking, growing,

Even as you turn away from me.

So who am I?

Am I truly lifeless,

Or do I live because you do?

Am I passive,

Or do I move through you,

With every story you tell, every life you lead?

You see me as an object,

Yet I am the subject of your world.

Without me, there is no breath, no sound, no sight.

I am you, and you are me.

Together, we exist. Together, we endure.