She took a train to New York city.

She took a train to New York city. Rain fell hard on the hotel sign. A weak cup of coffee and some gasoliene. Crowded diners filled with the smoke and steam and smells of the working class. Time slows down on the road. Or speeds up. Either way it dosnt matter like it used to. Lost in transit. One more stop. The dead letter office.

Love is a hand grenade

When you first find love it is precious, you lie awake nights delighted, you take extra special care of it.
but after a while the newness wears off, you become used to it, you still value it and cherish it but the time spent on it becomes much less. As the years go by you begin to take love for granted it becomes normal and you stop worrying about it. You pay little attention to it and just assume that it’ll be there when you need it. Soon while rummaging around looking for something else you will inadvertently pull the pin. Your love will explode in your face and be no more, leaving you mortally wounded lying amongst the tattered ruins of your life. Love is a hand grenade and should be treated with care and approached with caution. Matters of the heart are always risky, and a broken heart, even when mended, carries the scars forever.