passenger days

It's a familiar feeling - out of place but recognized - like the spring time rain arriving somewhat ahead of time. Sometimes I can't tell the difference between the sea and the sky line like the times i can't tell the differences in the subtleties of you and I.

Sometimes I daydream about hopping on a passing train. I don't know where I'm going anyways. I'm just along for the ride these days.

If the truth be told, I think that I already know how this will end with me crawling defeatedly all the way back home.

I fear that I may be a little to naive.

Sometimes I daydream about hopping on a passing train. I don't know where I'm going anyways but I'm not content with these passenger days.

I feel like you've got me in some sort of a holding pattern and I don't know how or when this ends, but the how doesn't really matter. I'm tired of asking the same questions and waiting on the same old answers and I don't know how or when this ends. The how doesn't even matter.