I wonder how a homeless feels.
Does he belong everywhere?
or nowhere at all?

"Limousine Eyelash
Oh, baby with your pretty face
Drop a tear in my wineglass
Look at those big eyes
See what you mean to me
Sweet cakes and milkshakes
I am a delusion angel
I am a fantasy parade
I want you to know what I think
Don’t want you to guess anymore
You have no idea where I came from
We have no idea where we’re going
Lodged in life
Like two branches in a river
Flowing downstream
Caught in the current
I’ll carry you, you’ll carry me
That’s how it could be
Don’t you know me?
Don’t you know me by now?"

                                                          ­                     - From 'Before Sunrise'

A bookkeeper once told me:
If it is possible in my entirely mortal capacity
to read as much books as I can, I'll do so

For who else will listen to the hearts and minds
of storytellers, truth seekers and prophets?

Who else will turn the pages
of unopened, uncharted books?

Who else will live in the worlds
and fulfill the hopes of those who made them?

Who will seize the magic of words and spin them
into a believable reality?

Who will?

Who will?

And very suddenly
as I looked into this old soul with shaking fingers
soft and wrinkled creases in his face,
it's as if his dream
transcended and became mine, as well