I wrote this last night. A week and a half ago I moved, and though I only moved about five miles away, I apparently moved five miles closer to train tracks. The trains make it hard to fall asleep sometimes, but they've also been inspiring me, so I guess it's not so bad.
It’s the middle of the night and I can’t sleep, so I will walk down to the trainyard where the rusted rails keep secrets all their own. I will hop into a lonely, forgotten boxcar and paint the inside walls lavender to keep my spirits bright like the springtime. And I will hide away as the towns and landscapes whisper by.
Dear Mr. Conductor,
Won’t you take me far away—someplace I’ve never been—like Chicago or Seattle? And if you promise not to tell anyone I’m leaving, then I promise I will write out on the freight car walls all the words that everyone is thinking but is too afraid to say.