It’s been awhile since I’ve doubted whether I’m on the right track, the twig that fell onto the railway didn’t stop me, but the snapping noise did. The clear cracking sound in the mid autumn crisp air, where I walk along the trees with orange, fiery leaves. The rustling of the dried, withering leaves on the dirt ground reminds me of the time– it’s fall. The railways stretch across the endless green and orange fields, the leaves slowly leaving the branches bare in the cool breeze, the end is probably in winter. I wander along the rusted iron tracks, the trains that have come and go on this railway have left their mark, with the little scratches, the small fissures and cracks all scattered, in-laid on the brown tracks. If you bend down and look closely, maybe you will see the marks made by the couple years ago with a pocket knife, a simple heart with the names crossed out time and time again by the wheels of a heavy train of thought. The complicated thoughts weigh down the train, making the hinges groan and groan every time it reaches the bump where tracks overlap. Somehow the train doesn’t derail despite the heavy load, but the bumps in every intersection of the tracks make the journey seem more arduous than it really is. How hard can it be to reach the end? It is just a long winding railway, with derailed thoughts trailing along until they break off and lie on the sides as the leaves fall and cover them up.