Train

  The interesting thing about trains. You never know exactly where they've been or where they're going. Kind of like people. Each is dirtied by the grime of life, the graffiti of its youth. It squeaks and grumbles and groans but still makes its lonesome way out to wherever it's going. Out there. Somewhere. In the darkness, in the stillness, it interrupts and protests that it still lives. It still works and battles and exists.
  I want to hop a train someday.
  When I can't take life any longer. When all I want is be free of responsibilities and people and work and anxiety and lonesomeness and hunger and tired and captive.
  When I want to be free.
  Trains fascinate me. I always want to know their story. Just like I want to know people's stories. But people are harder to understand than trains. Unfortunate. Sometimes I wish people could be as instruction-book-manual easy to understand as machines are.
  Take me far away, trains. I want to see. To be free. To wonder, experience, open my eyes to the spotted starry desert sky, or take in the foggy-as-the-morning-dawn air that drifts down from the mountains and greets me. To see those who I love, and to meet new loved ones. To rattle on the floor of the cargo train, hearing each little sigh and complaint and lying with my cheek to the side of the train wall as it bump bump bumps along the rickety, dependable track.
  To know that I am going somewhere. That I still work and still battle and still exist. Just like the train.