Final Destination

I am on a train. My Poetry playlist is doing what it does; syncing with the sinking sun, blood-orange and blinding, which seems to peek from in between limbs of endless trees in time to the each and every beat. My heart is light, and my feet are (cheekily) perched beside my bottom upon my window seat. The sky is pale and streaked with remnants of plane-trails, blue blending into bruised peach, and I almost cannot breathe. 


I am in love. 

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