Molly’s life is no priority

Not her real name…

This morning, I sat down at one of the train station’s wooden benches after having waved goodbye to a friend. I looked around for a moment, noticing the early buzz of the commuters’ day. There’s something exhilarating about sitting with your thoughts in a busy place. For the poet’s mind this can start a story or a scene that must be written down. If you…