Member-only story
my train is running on schedule
Feb 8, 2021
Too early late,
too soon behindhand.
Timing is everything and nothing.
Waiting,
I can hear the moving cough
of the bus into distant ears.
Missing it is a sore, painful feeling,
stabs when you attempt to chase.
Waiting for another one
here, sitting, tapping my feet away,
and throwing rocks at rocks on rocks feeling rocky
while I wait.
When hearts in eyes gather rain, showers slashing down our faces
in river line ways, we realize we had waited
for the bus by the train tracks,
it was never going to come.
The railways are perfect symbols
of how we will always be parallel, side-by-side always,
never to meet, never to be one.
— — a poem by nublaccsoul x new-black-soul
