By Midnightt
We ran away to the train tracks and listened to Elvis Presley sing about a love we thought we knew. Holding sweaty hands and hitching cargo trains to small towns, hoping to reach a beach city where we could live the rest of our days skinny-dipping or lying buried in the sand. Our mark on the world was the Polaroids I kept of us, and the random poetry we would spray paint when we thought it was poetic. We hoped when we died a stranger would find the gold box on the beach and keep the memories alive with them.
Beautiful
This story is a good example of how to make every word count. A lovely way with words.