I've missed my dreams again.

Well, I’ve missed my dreams again. I weigh the consequences of just leaving my over packed baggage right here on the platform. Somehow the cold concrete of the floor has begun to seep into the rubber on the soles of my shoes. Speaking of souls, mine is currently desperately trying to get the conductor to pull the emergency brake and let it inside the train. That’s troublesome because the broken body that has been it’s vessel for 20 years is currently walking back to the ticket counter, white knuckles crushing his one way ticket. It’s at that counter that Mrs. La-vie informs him it is only exchangeable for one of lesser value. Her name sounds French and for that I thoroughly expected a more romantic ending.

There’s not much left to do at this point but settle on where I’ll settle once more. I resign to try harder much in the fashion of the Little Engine That Could, only without Watty Piper’s conviction. “We’ll make things work,” I promise to no one in particular. Frustratingly enough, I can never ever remember my dreams when I wake up. A silent toast is offered to whoever invented luggage with wheels. A sudden fatigue overtakes me and I can think of nothing else but sound sleep. I think I’ll check one last time to see if the gift shop has a dream catcher for sale.