Every person has their own bible, 

whether it be a cookbook, Gods word,

or your old copy of "Alice in Wonderland"

everyones is different, and helps them in different ways. 

His was the alcohol anonymous "handbook of help",

and he read it religiously and praised every word,

the story much too common, 

an addict struggling to overcome his ways, 

getting anyplace else but the bottom of a bottle,

unlike most unhappy endings, this one is a fairy tale,

a man who bettered himself with many helping hands, 

the will to stay alive, and this leather bound blue book clasped between his hands,

held high above his heart where it belongs.

The pages ripped and torn, read over and over again,

highlighter marks single out the important phrases,

the ones that got him through the hardest days and the loneliest nights,

chicken scratch writing is scribbled around the phrases he likes the most,

the ones that he finds himself in, the ones that spoke to him, 

his hands shake a bit as he points to the story he likes the best,

sets the book in my lap with a smile on his face and lets me read.

Two complete strangers sharing a lifetime of good conversations in a dirty Grey Hound bus seat.

Telling me the story he needed someone to hear,

and the one that I unknowingly needed to listen to.

Never judge someone based on their past,

compliment them on the footsteps they're taking towards their future,

never give up, because you are greater than the experiences that have harmed you,

or the sins that have slapped your pride to the ground,

pull yourself back up on your feet, and keep walking.