Soulful,
like your voice which winds and wraps itself about my heart, slowing its beat to preserve the moment we’re in.
Soulful,
like a troubled blues singer who beats out his feelings on his six string and expels his troubles through a tiny silver harmonica. he lets the audience glimpse the infinite road to his unattainable being.
Soulful,
like the feeling of music so loud it vibrates in your chest. music that shakes your very core and dares you to grasp inspiration.
Soulful, further still,
like the beauty of humanity as we change and thus, grow upon each other like vines on a house.
Soulful,
like the strange reason we have transformed the idea of rain to be both wildly romantic and depressing.
Soulful,
like a river of my own thoughts that tumble over rocks of inhibition and doubt.
And soulful,
I dare say,
like my own pretentious soul.