Lost in Translation

My poet friend offers his unsolicited “translation” of the train engineer’s email. I think he might be more jaded about men than most of the women I know. Here’s his interpretation of the engineer’s words:

“Meeting you was the highlight of my summer. Though there are these loose screws rattling around my head and swallows nesting in my innards. A clank is beautiful, though both the housing and the machine are off in separate worlds. Engine grease long ago congested my heart. Doctors call it failure. I just shrug and keep to the train. P.S. Suck my beautiful coal smoke as long as you want, I like the attention.”

Well god forgive me for daring to hope, eh?

So I will tell you this, dear reader, because I suppose I need to hear it again myself: I like to think that I know a good human being when I meet one. I also like to think that while I might be a fool, at least I’m not a coward. I understand that it is better regret trying and failing than it is regret failing to try in the first place.

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