My soul is worth a thousand words, because that’s what they say a picture is worth. Trust me; it’s more than a cliché, because a fifty dollar Polaroid robbed me of mine. I’m now an un-aging conscious image—imprisoned in a wooden frame on the dresser of my wife’s soulless facade.
Her soul lives in the digital frame on the nightstand. Sometimes when the maid speeds through the room, she puts us back wrong, and we can gaze at each other across the bed. I’m praying hard to be digitized so we can share the Web forever.