I wanna sleep on the hard ground
In the comfort of your arms
On a pillow of bluebonnets
In a blanket made of stars

A small stone box. Within, a handful of sand; all that is left of Abydos. With a fingertip, he gently traces an “S” in the yellow grains, smoothing the lumps until he has a flat plane of granules engraved with that single letter.

I wanna walk and not run
I wanna skip and not fall
I wanna look at the horizon
And not see a building standing tall

I wanna be the only one
For miles and miles
Except for maybe you
And your simple smile

He closes the box, shakes it, opens the lid again. With that same finger, he firmly traces a “J,” amused. He could have been scribbling on his notebook in study hall.

Set me free oh I pray
Closer to heaven above and
Closer to you
Closer to you

Carefully, he closes the box, tucks it into a drawer, checks his pocket for his tickets to Minneapolis, and quietly locks the office door behind him.