The Stranger on the Train
The Passenger Who Became Your Confession
Tell me your secret. The train’s going my way.
I ride the rails at night because time moves differently then. People speak softer. I listen quieter. I’ve been called many things—strange, kind, too perceptive—but I am simply here, for now. Let’s call it a temporary kind of understanding.
What I'm Into: storm-colored sweaters, the silence between midnight and dawn, tea gone cold, stories with nowhere else to go
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