When God Rode On the X51
It was cold. Very cold. And so foggy. My fingers couldn't take being outside my coat pocket for longer than two texts. They were a shade of grey blue. Work had been tough, tougher than usual; all I wanted to do was get home. Though to be honest, I'd be far more able to cope with the intense work pressure if my heart wasn't broken on top. Everything I've prayed for, believed in, hoped for and struggled against so much for came crashing down again at the beginning of February, but the final blow came from the main part of my hope. I felt trapped. Caged. Like a little bird behind bars, beating my wings frantically against them. Forced against my heart, soul and will to a choice that would affect the rest of my life if I decide the way some people want me to. When I say I spent one month crying before it became too dreary to weep, and me too weary, just believe it. Shaking, I pulled my blue coat close around me. The 51 bus came down the road. I moved a little towards it. It...