day three.

my soul is old.

it enjoys large glasses and cardigans and shuffle board. My soul lurches at other surrounding souls with big glasses and cardigans and a need to play cards. My soul rejects drinking games and drama, for young souls rejoice over these things. My old soul has found one true love, but feels young about this manner, because it is yet to experience that sort of loss. My soul is wry from experience, but craves it. Our souls, both old and breaking, collide on broken edges to form figures and shapes quite possibly never known to man. We have ancient African roots and desires seen by animals only. The flowers grew about us and our ancient old soul passion. The wind swept across water holes and danced dances which were felt but never seen; these dances live in us. Wild, wild, wild.

Our old souls are alive, in big glasses, cardigans, and Africa.