She, 

 is not yet an old soul. Such apprenticeship has not yet begun.

Studiously she watches as you cite your second hand wisdom. 

Bested by her innocence,  such familiar nostalgia withers like the thick layer of dust it hides beneath.

Shaken and bruised like brine against an ice cube,  the vermouth of your ideals is poured into an ill fitting glass.

Left feeling dirty you turn to d...

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