Screeching down the line,
whistle trees distracting
from impending separation
as we approach Belmont.
Tonight felt like forever
in the best way, and maybe
sometimes goodbye is just a comma;
I beg for more commuters to protest
our disconnection.
Maybe I missed your line
this time.
Maybe I missed something in the way you say
this is me
and looked back like you had so much more to say.
But not this time.
I think I'm reading all the lines
and hesitating.
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