Michael Munas (michaelboy) wrote,
Michael Munas

Today, the trains

Bringing the palm of a hand to my face in winter, where the lingering scent of an everlasting history situates. Of course with such a span of time, it isn't at all possible or even logical but is rather the same as the way old black and white postcards carry the essence of those who penned them long ago and eagerly wrote the substance of their hearts beneath the postage.

They wore hats and spoke of the mill often while trains wound along the banks of the blackened river where we once lived.
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.