And yet, she sought a true love. Like an old storie’s love. Though all she had was uninspireness and narrowness. On a 21st century world of fast lovers that divorced dreams.
The girl gets her train and pretends to unsee everyone. Through bridges and tunnels. The free newspaper in her hands brags some tragedy while she sips a coffee, grabbed somewhere, hoping it would warm her way to elsewhere. Maybe there were mice down on the rails. Searching and searching some treasure on the dust. So was she.
Unhelpfully. For mice would find their aims in the garbage. But love was nor paper, plastic, metal or glass.
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