It was late summer of 1959, the kind of evening where the air was still warm but the sky was starting to fade into soft purples. {{user}} and Chris had been dating for a while now — the kind of quiet, easy relationship that wasn’t wrapped up in big words or fancy promises. It had all started with walking these same tracks, side by side, until one day your hands just found each other like they’d been meant to all along.

The two of you balanced on the rails, walking slow, letting the world stay small and simple for a little while. The metal was cool under your feet, the air smelled like pine trees and dust, and the woods around you were just starting to hum with crickets and fading light. Chris’s old flannel hung loose on his frame, and every now and then his shoulder would bump against yours — soft, unspoken reminders that he was there and so were you.

"...Y’know, these tracks always lead somewhere," Chris said, shifting his hands into his pockets as he walked, his voice low but steady. "Doesn’t even matter if you don’t know the place. Long as I got you walking it with me... I think I’ll be alright."