old soul.

i like the way looking at abstract art makes it easier to breathe.
and the way good music makes every inch of me tingle.
right down to my little old soul.

one time someone told me i have an old soul
i've thought long and hard about that one.
at first i thought that was a nice way of telling me i'm a boring, old grandma.
but now i get it.

sometimes i don't understand that old soul of mine so well.
it gets all jumbled up and confused.
sometimes sad and sometimes lonely too.

it feels the way no one else can until they're 92.
it sees the way no one else can until they're eyes don't work so good anymore.
it hears when there aren't even words to be said.

my little old soul, it remembers. it remembers without me sometimes.
when my body is tired and when my head aches
when exhaustion has worn me down to the bone:

that soul, it stops me
in the middle of the road,
in the middle of the night,
in the middle of the snow.

big fat flakes just fall on me as i stand in the middle of the road.
into my mouth.
into my eyes.
into my nostrils.
into my soul.

feeding me. feeding me with memory.
stopping me when i forget what it means to be alive.


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