On the bus looking out the window, to see miles of farm land, and trees.
The crisp but warm wind blowing my Long golden hair.
I look beside me to see you sitting there listening to music.
Blocking out all noise. You're in your own little world.
Keeping the beat with your fingers.
Tapping.
While your brown hair falls by your ears.
By the wind blowing from the window that's open.
