I ride on abandoned horses, on drunk ships, on trains without trains, in cars without drivers. Does he stop to rest or is the trip so manic that he does not need breaths? It enters the bodies like an arrow and only comes out if it is pulled violently. It strikes like lightning and leaves ashes at the end. Tickets are very expensive and luggage is minimal.
You come in full and you go out halfway. And yet the docks are full of travelers. Travelers looking for him while they know they will burn. Because that first sweet of the capsule, the frantic heartbeat, the unquenchable desire are paid as much.
When the stationmaster shouts, everyone will run to catch up, some will be trampled and others will be crowned winners with the gold ticket appearing as a medal on the chest. Because love trips are not planned. They happen. And this fate is praised by others and condemned by others, but everyone is chasing it.
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