I hear train bells as they clumsily clatter through the emptied streets behind the farm.
I have grown to fit this bed, to pay this rent. Truth be, my feet still stretch out on a quest for more linen. I remember being her…hopeful.
Without need of whistle, in a flashing moment, I am transported to crowded rooms of toys and shoes and things. Cigarette smoke molding… thick in the air like burnt rubber in boiling sun.
I’d scrubbed the floor yet nothing could ever seem to remove what was already. Vacant.
words are funny~
I lie here awake each night searching the sound for us. Maybe the train is a call I keep missing..?
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