The Way I Was Remembered — Marcel Duriez

There are many crossing rails but no connections. This reminds me of myself in every emotion in a romantic sense of my existence of life. I walk along the railroad tracks, every day. They have been forgotten by the society. I go through the cornfields of ecstasy yet there are no thrills for me. I pass the windmills that twist, twirl and turn in the night's cold breeze, the reminds me of the ones, that have someone in the night to tumble with. I see myself in the glossy stone ones more, and I see that that young girl's face looking back at me, or so it seems. ‘Small towns are funny places, everybody thinks they know everybody.' The Way I was Remembered...