She is said to be an old soul,
A woman as lady,
So young and so fair.
She lives for the day when she goes somewhere,
Somewhere where she isn't the only one who understands,
The trees whispers,
The suns kiss,
The roses voice,
And the musics belonging in her heart.
She's a dreamer really,
Always questioning,
Until she finds the truth.
Is she arrogant or kind?
Is she pretty are average?
Is she real or unimaginable?
Is she even  human?
Being in between doesn't bother an old soul like this lady.
But it doesn't stop her love for curiosity,
She just keeps moving on in a life,
That she wonders,
Why.
Why does everyone care so much,
About hair,
About nails,
About belonging,
About publicity.
She keeps moving on in a life,
That she wonders
If
If it is even real
If she wants to be happy or successful
If she wants to be adventurous
If she wants to marry
If she wants to have kids
But it's so wrong to not worry,
And to only wonder.
Should she worry?

STOP


The one thing she forgets is that when she is only slightly in peace her mind goes ballistic,
In a world like this, you have to stand still for a moment and just go blank.
She wonders,
She thinks,
She listens,
She sees,
Now it's time for peace.