old soul, lost between chords of blues forgotten between mountains of concrete and glass more whole than all the new souls looking at each other in the window. old soul, dreaming at proms and letters, lost between carelessness and technology. old soul, forgotten behind by another nation of souls; its own colony that was destroyed by the era called shallow with the same name. dreaming of waltzes and dinners, the smell of old book, tied in leather and scent of September and rain and moist soil and dead leaves. but you, old soul, how come you resist between so much new and carelessness? How come you haven't choked yet, between mountains of concrete?