Sign Your Name in the Humble Room

I am waste paper, which he removed from old envelopes and smoothed into a mountain. He lives in a shabby room with an area of ​​6 square meters, and uses kerosene light to perform calculations on me every night. I was written all over and erased by him, countless colleagues were burned, but I was pressed to the bottom and survived. Until he wrote a complete "1+2" ​​certificate on me, which shocked the whole world, but I was admitted to the museum. And what I miss day and night is only that flickering light.