Wednesday morning, I'll be gone.
The greater half of me would have finally won.
I'll close this book, and leave with one last hook.
We are never to see each other again, closing our eyes and imagining ourselves both on a different train.
I'm letting go of the past, but I fear soon it will come back to bite me fast.
You know how hard it is to let go, but to me you're like snow.
Soft, pure white.
But it's going to kill me one night.
