Holes in the Walls

The old Kirksville High School building of 1914. The Structure is sound, yet the inside is anyone's guess.

The train will slowly become life sized as it rounds the mountain. Your eyes will perk up like the ears of my dog, Major. Pick up your suitcase, the time is coming. The rain is falling hard, calming the dust. The smoke billows up like an ascent into the heaven you seek to exist in. With your hat tilted, you gather with the others. Shelter yourself from this brisk rain. The thoughts of your beloved music box drift through your intoxicated mind. To the handsome business man next to you, your sorrow shines brightly. The old wrinkly woman in front of you glances back and envies you. The paint that has not peeled off the cement post yearns for your warm hand to touch it. These three give you so much thought, yet you have never thought about yourself. The voice inside your head echos as you worry about where your next stop will bring you. crowd crowd crowd closer.closercloser. Pressure is felt on your back and from each side as you crowd the steps. sit.
What note of a piano will you be? What will make you happy in the end? Surely you will conquer something great, explore new things, and in the end settle down with love. You stories will carry you until your last dying breath. Enola, have no fears. You are an angel. You float like the butterflies above.