Faceless and Nameless

You didn't have a face before I saw you.
Before I saw, you didn't have a face.
But now, though not an artist, I could draw you
with every shadowed wrinkle deep in place.
You didn't have a name before I knew you.
Before I knew, you didn't have a name.
But now, and with this same old pen that drew you,
I'll write your stories, lived before you came.
You simply were not here before I met you.
Before we met, you simply were not here.
But now, you are, and somehow I could bet you
I too was blank before you saw me clear.
For somehow, all those things are true of me, too.
Though at the time, I thought I had a face.
I thought I knew my name, my stories, all true.
Now you've redrawn, rewritten and replaced.