The Weary Traveler

I was a weary traveler on a passenger train I boarded when I turned eighteen.

I thought the train an easy escape from the strife of my abusive family life.

It looked so inviting, so shiny, streamlined as the charming conductor took me aboard.

He said the train would speed me to my promised land… But only to discover it was a ride to a barren desert of sand.

At first the ride was exhilarating, the answer to all my woes. I saw and experienced new sights, sounds, and emotional ups and downs.

Then the train stopped on down the line and I disembarked full of hope and glee… Thinking I was at the right destination that was perfect for me.

And soon I found out, what the destination was about—it was a reality check that left me in doubt.

I had not escaped but only had traveled from one form of abuse to another.

So I boarded the train and fled as fast as I could, to what I thought would certainly be the next perfect destination for me.

But each station stop was all the same.

Nothing more but misery I gained.

And as the years passed by, I tried not to cry about how I had created a life that was about to die.

And it was during one endless trip of my mine, that I woke up and pulled the cable one last time… to finally disembark and make my life stable.

And as I walked away down the deck, I turned back to see…

A train that was battered, weather worn, neglected, and in need of repair.

Then I stopped and reflected about my free ride, only to realize…

It had cost me my life, limb, and nearly my hide.

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