he smelt like a thrift store.
buildings whizzed by as his head leaned against the window.
music played through his coca cola headphones, dug up from a cereal box promising a surprise,
only later realizing nothing is as good as promised.
(except for Jesus) i whispered.
his eyelashes were fluttering-open and close-and i wondered what he was dreaming about.
(are we dreaming about the same things?) i asked.
his face was young, yet his eyes held years only made possible through pain and suffering.
our eyes were so similar.
(you're not alone) cried my heart.
we watched the same world pass all around us as we drove by, and i found myself wondering if our lives were all that different.
after all, Christ died for us both, didn't he?
(tell him!) i screamed.
but i didn't
instead, i watched as he got off the bus, left only to guess who he might be.
left only to hope that someday there might be someone braver than i.
(or that you may become brave) i thought.
Lord, make me brave.