A Witness at this Stop
The train stop lives in the heart of the city—a city whose name I don’t care to recall, as it does not care to recall me. There is a chill in the air, not consequential of the gentle breeze, but something more of a sensation, like goose bumps felt within.
Comments (3)
Thought provoking.
I feel like this might be a reflection on writing haiku!
Come here instead, if you're longing for company, where there are so many other soul suckers gathered.