Technology has lead to amazing things, things of wonder that never would have been dreamed of even fifty years ago. The modern age is awe-inspiring, and though I would not desire to be anywhere else in time, my soul is old and tired.
I am an old soul, looking at the world with new eyes and ancient thoughts. I sit in silence, content to take out fabric and thread to stitch the day away every now and then. Sewing is more simple than facing the world outside.
Record Players amaze me, the way the record will spin, and spin, and spin. The music comes out, smooth and calming, as I sit cross-legged next to the contraption, enamored. Modern music may be fast and upbeat, but the music from a record player reminds me of a river, flowing fast or slow as it pleases, always moving.
I take pleasure in my plants. They grow slowly, and I may not be the best caretaker, but I love them. Green, or pink, or whatever color they choose, I smile softly at them whenever I pass by. I have raised them and I will care for them, for plants remind me that not all in this world is bad.
Writing is so easy nowadays, with computer keys clacking even as I write this. But, I find my eyes straying to other ways of writing. Fountain pens, for one, with the colored ink that is so vibrant and happy. The metal nib is so intricate and delicate, a reminder that it is okay to be gentle and warm.
And yet my eyes still stray to the typewriter, a recent purchase of mine. A work in progress, if you will, but the keys and the stamps amaze me, they captivate me. Though the ink ribbon has faded and I won't be able to use it until a new one comes in, I love it. I revel simply in it's presence, looking longingly at it any time I am near. I have long desired a black typewriter, sleek and elegant, but now that I see my blue one, I am happy. The color is fun and poppy, it makes me smile by thinking of it. It truly is the best companion.
I may be an old soul, taken from the past, but I know that I belong in the present, and will belong in the future. I have no place in the years of my favorite machines, so all I can do now is take care of them and hope that they survive.
After all, what would I be without them?
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Life Through A Seaglass Lens
PoetryPoetry- found by many but all so different. This is how I find it, through a camera lens of soft foggy green, a rhyming stanza of all I've seen. I am going to die by my own terms, facing whatever being shaped my soul, weapons out and teeth bared, o...
