I jumped on a dead end train. I knew full well it wasn’t going anywhere. But I made myself at home on his couch. Tried to run my fingers through his hair.

Even when the conductor made his announcement. Told me all of his secrets. Told me just how likely this train was going to crash face first into a brick wall, I kept jumping aboard, I kept trying to hold on tight.

I know how this all ends. But it’s how it all began that I can’t seem to reconcile. All of a sudden you somehow find yourself going in the wrong direction. And your first instinct is to jump, before you get any farther off course. But you look back down the tracks and it all seems so far away. You start to forget what the journey was even for, what it was even worth. And you realize no one else was coming your way.

That’s why you sit down. Even though the seat cushions make your skin itch and the smoke fills yours lungs, you won’t move. Because at this point you just want to go fast in any direction. And no one was coming your way, no one ever comes your way.

But sometimes you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window and you know this is somebody else’s train. So you make a run for it, hit the gravel and bleed in the dirt. Try to remind yourself you’d rather limp down the tracks forever than accept something ordinary.

But the more you keep walking you wonder if you have the strength to not jump on again. Because you know he’ll come around again. These dead end trains always come around again.

I guess we’ll see.