The tracks hum beneath the steel wheels hushing past trees and trash, sweeping the landscape, and she is along for the ride.  She is quiet and content in being alone.  There is a beautiful ache in traveling alone.  Perhaps it is the commencement of something brilliant, the peace of introspection and her own company.  Other parties involved may view it differently.  She knows we all have our own realities.  She gives them the benefit of the doubt.  However, she thinks it sucks when someone else’s reality has some influence upon her own when she doesn’t realize it.  It is the only refuge, her voice, the solitary elegance of her redemption.  For if she would not be alone, she would possibly be lonely.  Then she thinks of him.

She never asked for much, not from him.  If she asked for more, she would have received less.  She is more than enough…

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