longing for nothing but the way to the door
The car screaching fowards. The road ran under us. The trees and street sighs blurred as we passed bye- we always pass bye. Thigns seem to go so slow untill there over. and then we regret ever complaining about it in the first place. ANd we sat- and thought. Eyes fixed on the horizon, as to try to see foward into something we don't understand. Verses from the soul flow, flow liek the river, under the brigde. Under us. And it was time, but time for what. Time for something unknown and that what is it. A metaphor for life. Just when the light wont change, it blinks green. I love the sight of the green florecent. I he never read a word he said, or wrote down for that mattter. but maybe that was the intention.