Incessant rain as I make my way to the subway. Commute on half full trains; going too early, returning too late, and the relief in always finding a seat. The book lies open in front of me but when we've crossed the water to another borough I realize I haven't understood a single word. Meaning gets lost in sleeplessness.
You are not tired
so much as you are
hollow.
The train lets you on,
regardless.
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Sifting through the Madness for the Word, the Line, the Way.
About Me
- Cajsa
- "If I can go to New York, live madly, and write. I will want for Nothing."
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