Stop. I don’t think. I never think, that’s my trouble, torpedoing into trouble, that wraps itself around me, choking the life out of me, and all the dreams I once had. I dream of you and the things you might say, but you stop, and so do I.

There are trains, always heading down the same vein, outside of your window. Under electric blankets, I observe a world that I never really felt part of, as it parades past your window, trying to impress me, but I can only ever look, I can never explore. Exploring is danger, and I’m so delicate these…

Everyone I meet, tells me that they feel they’ve known me all their lives, soulmates in seconds, but never sticking around. I am the home of broken souls, building up the broken wings that flutter in my direction, then watching them fly away.