It’s raining outside. And inside. But I’d rather be walking in the rain than sleeping in it. And my mind is like A Million Little Pieces, but none of it is fiction, except the thoughts that will never be. And “is there time to follow just one desire?” And I’m sorry, with red eyes I’m sorry for things said and unsaid. Am I strong enough? And I might get kicked off the train, but that’s the least of my concerns. And i’m falling back into my old high school-overdramatized-emo-poetry-wannabe-romantic style of writing, but I don’t care. I don’t. And maybe, like Max, I’ll make it back home, but it won’t be without playing, without fighting with a few Wild Things first, without scraping my knee and getting lost and probably getting hurt.
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