Train write ups

On an R headed back to Queens, I am sitting down detached from my surroundings. Navy Blue is playing in my AirPods. There’s a “sacred bond” (see “To Fall in Love”) in letting the gross tunnel air become as romantic as Rose in Titanic standing full against the winds. I’ve held up myself this one last time until I catch another restless ride toward somewhere worth seeing. I had used to live past Steinway, and I used to think that it was a luxury to get off a lot earlier than my old stop at 46th. I had lived in a home faded in the sun. A lot of families were in that neighborhood. Now that I live in Long Island City, I feel connected to that old life. Dare I say, I miss it. I wish I could bob my head right now to what I’m listening to. There’s a joy in letting what little the world thinks or says about you permeate into your mental den. I guess I’m just headed home where it’s safe to dance, nod my head as the sun dips into the underworld.