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  • Writer's pictureNathan Groves

Locomotive (Cloudy)

A man, once a boy, is still just a boy. He still misses his mother’s sleeve. He still feels like the odd man out in every room he steps into. He still hides insecurity in humor and pain in avoided eye contact.


A man, once a boy, is still just a boy. He still likes long train rides and the comfort of being alone. He’s still running from place to place, toward the same cheap thrills and empty offerings.


A man, once a boy, is still just a boy. His brain is running like the locomotives he hides in. Continuous and never-ending. A feedback loop of white noise and regret. Regret saying something. Regret saying nothing.


A boy, once a boy, is still just a boy. He still daydreams about flying. He still wishes he could sleep in the clouds. He still lives for love. Finding joy in the uniqueness of every person's laugh. He still gets lost in pretty eyes.


A boy, once a boy, is still just a boy. He still loves bike rides and the endlessness of his imagination. He’s still running to feel alive. Towards people who understand him.


A boy, once a boy, is still just a boy. His heart shines like the sun. A never-ending source of light. A distant calling to never make himself small. Saying what he feels. And loving without regret.



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