Train

She needs the sounds of the train yards to get her by in this life.
The thought of brush strokes make her feel like puking. But the smell of paint is the sweetest fragrance for her.
The way that spray paint tickles her nose makes her dream harder than when she lays her head to rest.
Even if there are whistling trains in the background. She still dreams the hardest with a scent.
She dreams about all the artists she surrounded herself with.
She has always been one to lust for those that will never love.
And artists are always guilty of this. Their first love is always their expression.
In these dreams she recalls the happiest moments with some of these artists.
She didn't lust all of them physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
But one, she did fall in love with for all the wrong reasons.She shouldn't have ever done such a thing to begin with.
Said to be, Pure lust with all the fixings that follow.
That artist is gone now.

And that is why you find her needing train yard sounds.
Her only friends these days are the train yard guards.
Such an odd friendship.
She has to be toe to rail close with those passing train carts.
The key benefit of these new friends.

Eyes peeled wide waiting for the sight of the slightest unfamiliar paint splash.
Nostrils flared waiting for that scent.
Instead of lusting artists right in hand now she lusts the ones she'll never touch.
How many more experiences she gets all from simple carts traveling across the land.

But those experiences will never replace what those dreams of past hold.
How those dreams bring those artists back.
Especially the one that made brush strokes.
Brush strokes that made her smile the hardest.