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Aug 20
morning rush across Flatbush
train tracks back to back
an empty seat, spilt coffee, sweet
locking eyes with strangers, sighs

day after day, mind wanders away
talking to spirits, only response from crickets
think of you in that old shop, tell my mind to stop
wonder if you ever think of me, in those ugly black jeans

tomorrow morning
same train tracks, different soundtrack
My morning commute, what's yours? Where do you work?
Written by
romy  23/F
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