I understand what it means now.

I used to watch them with a great deal of contempt, feeling they wanted, no, feeling they needed something completely different to me.

I know they don't know.

When I used to catch my bus to school, I watched in silence and solitude as they clumsily found their seats, waiting to get to nowhere I would go, and nowhere I would know. Complaints and heartache would riddle their conversation with each other, making me wish for infinity. During school not another thought of mine would be spent on them, not with football and uniform swallowing me whole.

Seven hours dead, seven dreams born, seventy dreams gone. I catch my bus back home and several of them follow. Perhaps I'm lucky as my dreams can still die like the hours of my day, with my fertile mind able to release a new hope.

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