At the end of the line

Dear friend, do you hear the whistle in the distance?

Oh buddy, oh pal, oh friend of mine.

How heavy my heart sinks at the eerie beauty of memories past.

I have to know if we shall jump.

But I don’t think we are on the same track or dock.

Dear friend the old clock that doest mock us old fools trying to reach hands.

The morning has become mornings. The nights are now numbered.

Dear buddy, dear pal of my heart I miss.

Do you hear the sound in the distance as I do?

This time for your third day of June, I wish you from my heart many wishes you won’t hear.

Like the tires on a track you won’t even, the noise echoes louder then the trains whistle.

What we had then was better then, what we have now is forever apart.

I board now before further embarrassment.

I rather hear the whistle then the chuckle of you two arrogant bodies.

May the whistle dance on shimmer night sky of bright colors that I may for once be in the spotlight.

Over our past come and take it pit of darkness that the tires of the highway be not my last sound.

That the sound return unto me as before I met you.

Let us part ways and my mind forget your existence.

Hake warp our memories to vapor that ascend to heaven’s forgetful sea.

That I not haunt you, nor you, I but like North magnets push encounters away.

Until the bliss.

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