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You were always friendly, with those that you liked but enemies were easily met. I guess they just didn’t understand you. Its easier to push someone away rather than try and relate. Convenience is a burden in disguise. I didn’t know at the time, but you were the legend of this town. Hopping the fence near the river, we settle near the over-grown grass and weeds, At that age you don’t drink for the right reasons, you drink to have fun but as men, we drink to stay young. You grew up much too fast, and things got ugly. Often times I wondered about you. So beat, and covered in soot, but in passing, finding love. Happiness is only an appearance, I guess. We pretend to find joy in things to try and forget that we are alone. He never forgot. I guess that is why it was so easy for him to walk away. In my imagination, I saw you passing a space-bag full of merlot to another lonely companion in the back of a freight train; hoping to make it to D.C. before morning arrived. Old and crusty, but young in years, almost like Cassady or Kerouac, but without the gusto. Too afraid to stay in a single place.
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Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 10:38 AM UTC
Trainhopper (For Joey)
You were always friendly, with those that you liked but enemies were easily met. I guess they just didn’t understand you. Its easier to push someone away rather than try and relate. Convenience is a burden in disguise. I didn’t know at the time, but you were the legend of this town. Hopping the fence near the river, we settle near the over-grown grass and weeds, At that age you don’t drink for the right reasons, you drink to have fun but as men, we drink to stay young. You grew up much too fast, and things got ugly. Often times I wondered about you. So beat, and covered in soot, but in passing, finding love. Happiness is only an appearance, I guess. We pretend to find joy in things to try and forget that we are alone. He never forgot. I guess that is why it was so easy for him to walk away. In my imagination, I saw you passing a space-bag full of merlot to another lonely companion in the back of a freight train; hoping to make it to D.C. before morning arrived. Old and crusty, but young in years, almost like Cassady or Kerouac, but without the gusto. Too afraid to stay in a single place.
topher-green
Written by
topher-green
American
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 10:38 AM UTC
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