Gently running my hand across old printed photographs
Old skin turned to dust reached out to me
Hands of the clock trying to lay their fingertips against mine
And guide me through their lives
Smiles as the then young adults watched children try to eat pie with no hands
Pretending to be hippies, women in their youth so slender, skin ringing clear laughter
And all the love and smiles that became deep wrinkles
Engravings of a silvered soul
©️ The Sad Owl
Stunning.
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