With Svefn-g-englar in my ears on an old Sony compact disk player nestled in the cove of my red backpack I ride. The melodies of Ágætis byrjun move me to question as I ponder the thoughts of Billy James and my longing sick soul with the forming chorus of Huston & Oxtoby to tickle my ear.
My mind dances to the norms and sources that make up my life. The life I knew so well but remained a stranger. The existence that cold no longer contain the budding soul that demanded more that light and good soil.
Sitting on the 239 bus I stare out of the window looking for glimpses of hope.
My heart longed for reason to conquer this faith that began as a seed. This burgeoning bush of love that grew and its roots firming its hold destroyed the self taking little ideas and daring them to be bold. There was Svefn-g-englar in my ears on an old Sony compact disk player nestled in the cove of my red backpack I ride.
The world passed us by down on White Oak as we turned towards Roscoe [the street and not the Rosco P. Coltrane of the Dukes of Hazzard fame]. I look at the houses we passed. They have families and friends living with them. There are stores that sell goods.
There was a restaurant supply place that I always wanted to see inside but never did. I dreamed of owning a place that sold hope and faith. I wanted to be its first customer. I would hang my own dollar on the wall in a pretty little frame. Then one day I could share the story of how I finally found faith sitting on the 239 bus as I stared out of the window looking for glimpses of hope.