onemorepanic

The train we rode along on slowed down and stopped.
And I was kindly asked to step off. Disconcerted I complied. Entirely grasping the incident would come later. I'd understand yet protest.
I ride my handcart now, pumping away at a moderate pace my eyes constantly peering back as the company I kept slides over the horizon. When it arrives at it's destination, one passenger, that I admire and love will settle down, enjoying a lifestyle a humble handcart rider could not yet provide. And eventually, with misgivings aside they'd reflect on the time they shared, with warmth. Together hopefully, as friends who understand each other in ways that few could ever.

Another train will come for me, I'm sure. And this hand cart will pass by someone just as lovely. As anything less would be a crime. You've got shoes to fill. My future whoever. But i'll decree in it's necessity, they're only shoes, they're no mold my dear eventual.

Until then I'll cart along watching the vistas, the could have's, and could be's and the self doubting in it's gradual fade.

Acceptance is a strange show. It's the scariest thing in the world in most applications. But once in a blue, they'll be something that'll mark it imperative and with some fucked magic of the world it'll make the path ahead much clearer.

I'm feeling a bit better now. And to those who stepped aside to care my thanks for the condolences. These type of situation I've hesistantly realized are impossible alone.