Old Soul

They call me an old soul 

but what I carry 

is not age—

it is accumulation 

 

I hold that 

as an empath 

I have lived  

through the myriad lives 

I have encountered 

I have loved your loves 

I have lived your lives 

I have grieved your griefs

 

I do not throw things away.

I place them

in small boxes
lined with words

set on shelves

I visit when I choose—

mostly 

They are not gone—
just no longer
in my hands

Sometimes I open one
not to feel it again
but to remember
I survived 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

April 17, 2026