there is a tendency with history, i think, because we’re so far removed from it, to kind of forget that all of the people were people
a child 10,000 years ago left a handprint on a wall. they were fingerpainting. a viking climbs up a rock just to carve the words “this is very high” 10ft off the ground. somebody centuries… milennia… ago burned their dinner so thoroughly that they buried the ruined pot in the backyard rather than attempt to clean it. shakespeare got drunk and wrote dick jokes. tutankhamun was a little boy who liked ducks more than anything. a roman carves his name into a monument in another country saying “i was here”. a prisoner, centuries ago, in the tower of london scratches lines into the wall as a tally marking the days. a medieval monk scrawls in the margins bemoaning the boredom of his work.
every human being across history has said “i was here. i lived. i loved. i made something. i laughed. i cried. please do not forget me”
most of us are not important enough that we will be remembered by name for more than a few decades. we are not kings or queens or great military leaders or innovators or influential artists, musicians, authors.
but all of us, every one, has a deep primal need to persist. we leave handprints on the wall, scratch our names into stones, carve initials into a tree, mark our growth as children on a wall, bury little time capsules. write in the margins of a book. hide notes behind the wallpaper.
reaching out into the future to some unknown human long after we’re gone to say
“hello, you. i was here, once”
here i re-wrote it as a poem to fit your tag
Somewhere far away from me
And impossibly long ago, now
A mother holds her child up high
To leave a handprint on the wallA man I will never meet
Climbs a rock for fun
He writes a message on the stone
And he says “this is very high”Somebody, once
Cooked a meal and burned it
Took the pot to the land outside their house
And buried the evidenceAn Egyptian king
Thousands of years before my birth
Wore a shirt embroidered with little ducks
And kept it, lovingly, in a chestIn a prison cell within a tower
A man stretches out through centuries
And marks off the days of his sentence
As lines on the wallA long-forgotten monk
Labours over a manuscript by candlelight
And writes in the margins
He is bored, and he has a hangoverThey leave pieces of themselves behind
And they say“I was here
I was here please do not forget me
I was alive and I loved and I got sick
I had a favourite animal
I was here. Do you love me?
I love you”Yes, I do.
I hold your life between my hands
And I see it, and I love youI scratch my name into a rock
On a tree, I carve my initials
And the initials of someone I love
So very muchI bury a box in my garden
And I write in the margins
I reach into the future
To somebody I do not knowA stranger who will never know me
“Hello, you” I say
“I was here, once. I loved and
I got sick and I had a favourite colourDo not forget about me, please
I love you”
(via nyxetoile)










