The Soul Man never rested. He was always travelling, collecting, becoming heavier and heavier with every person he met. He never rested. Keeping a story, he would take a little bit of everyone with him as he traversed the world.
His deep, worn pockets store his souls. He feels each and every one with every step as they weigh down against his moving legs.
When on long treks, he often digs his lean, aged hands deep into his pockets and lets the lives run through his fingers. He revels in the feeling of the smooth, cool, ghostly souls brushing his hands.
Then one day, he met me. His eyes told a million stories, and his lips told a million more. He taught me the universe and whispered of the other humans. He took a piece of me, gently depositing it into his pocket to travel with him for the rest of time.