Someone once said, we were made from stardust: dried tears of angels, sad enough to fall from heave but not corrupted enough to become a drop in the ocean.
Someone once said, we were made from memories. The saddest, from our previous lives and the happiest, from our possible future.
Someone once said, we were made from every would have been, should have been, and could have been particles accumulated together then given abilities to make those reality.
Someone once said, we were made from dreams and wishes. Every sort of them. Hopeful ones, desperate ones, dying ones.
And then people began to talk all at once, but it was all the same.
Because, someone once said, love metamorphed into different kind of languages and it was better to live your fullest of it, rather than guessing in what language of love you were made.