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Rushing past

January 26, 2009

It was the same every day. To the train. To work. Back again. To the train. To work. Back again. In her seat, pulled from her book by the memory of a shell on an outstretched palm, she gazed out the window at the tunnel rushing past, hoping to catch a glimpse of who she was, who she wanted to be, who she lost.

2 comments

  1. aw, i like this one.


  2. Thanks, El Gee!



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