An excerpt from chapter 12

Lately, the pollen has been clinging to the air vastly and aloft like butterfly ghosts defying gravity, wilting, and dancing through the new seasoned air. Almost as if angels have flown through the town and the remnants of their wings are floating behind them like ash.The beginning of summer is underway and the heat is starting to smolder the atmosphere with a touch of crisp air still lingering. With the blaze intensifying, and the angel wing debris collecting, an annual event is arriving which defines the homestretch of the school year into the summer. EPAC. The concert of the year is coming like a mini Woodstock vigorously wielding its way into our anticipating hearts. No more ghosts, nor wishes, could possibly cocoon into our so called adolescent dreams as this weekend event could create. My mind is collecting these dandelion souls out of the air as hopes of what could happen. A story eagerly yearning to be thought of, told, and lived. EPAC...
It makes you strip down to the most ancient state of your human spirit. Like we have been alive for thousands of years, roaming from body to body, life to life, same soul, different bones, different face, same eyes. Same heart, spinning under the same sun, just waiting for certain moments that not only define you but define the wait. Define everything in us that attached itself to thousand of strings. Passions, responsibilities, love, and people, to only be tugged and pulled one way and to the next way making us our own puppets by the decisions we make to just get us here. Here. To listen to music. To connect thousands of people with thousands of different fingerprints and problems and hurts to just all be the same for a twilights passing. Everyone enjoying and feeling the same thing at the same time. Inhaling the same air to only remind us that we can only exist for flashes at a time. We are glimpses traveling at the speed of sight to freeze ourselves to this moment only. To do nothing but let ourselves go. To live free, ancient, naked. Until the moment is gone. Flash of silent lightning in the sky. Then we dress ourselves accordingly. Living in between dreams. Till the next one.
I’m rambling now, I know. But I believe there is sense in my nonsense. Just like there is a tame in the wild, order in the chaotic, chance in the timid, and the naked in the waiting. For this moment. To cry out from the bottom of your lungs and the deep in the bones of your past existences and sprawl your everything down this watery slope and just be liberated of everything you have ever worried about, or looked forward to, for thousands of years.

~In This Glimpse of Eden