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Torn pages of unfinished verse. They can’t know she’s vulnerable. Thrown in the trash to join the other lost travelers. Never reaching their potential, aborted in the womb.
My eyes cannot trust what it is seeing. A blue steam engine wandering past me. His name is Thomas, and he is fleeing. His speed clears the branch line of all debris. As I observe closely, he pulls coaches.
I sit inside and Let the world hurry by.