Albuquerque and beyond
Train is picking up steam. I was able to snap a quick pic yesterday as we wove through this world and the next.
Does love ever die? Are you afraid to tell it to me, even now? Art never dies, but the artist does. Do lovers ever die? Can love reach past the flesh, the mortal coil that strangles us all?
I got up and went to the back of the train last night, pondering these questions. I stepped out on the back of the caboose and let the winds carry away my whisper: I love you.