I stare at the clock hanging above the now abandoned diner counter of the Greyhound station I am waiting inside, ready to leave my past behind for an uncertain future, my mom at my side, and I wonder if I will ever be here again. We do not speak, no words could express these opposing feelings, what we feel when we feel so much about this day and what it means. I'm about to board a bus, to cross the country, to follow after my dreams so often dreamt I feel as though I have already lived them a thousand times. People pass us, they on their own journeys, as though we are not present. Are we ghosts in some memory? A memory of a time so long ago, now fading with each passing year, to one day be lost to time? My bus will be here shortly. I hug my mom once again. I would kiss her on the cheek but feel odd about such a gesture in such a public place. I want to remember this moment. I want to hold on to these minutes. A mental time travel I know so well from reliving the times gone. For a m
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