Conversations with Myself 1.7

Where do all the good people go?
I have known a few.
I often wonder where they are.
Those souls of gold.
Surely not stored in some jewelry box
or high above the clouds
behind a gate.
No,
these spirits
could never burn out
and cease.
Instead
I look for them
in the faces that I meet,
as I walk the streets.
In a restaurant,
when I catch a gaze.
Do I know you?
Already?
From before?
In a different package
but with the same
deep eyes.
I find a peace,
knowing we might meet again.
Serendipity,
of sorts.
Or maybe our hearts,
are connected to that lovely,
long,
golden,
thread,
of
love.