I watch my childhood memories fly by with the deciduous trees and the intermittent street signs in the foggy window of the city bus.
The red coat that I gave away because I thought it made my tiny frame too boxy.
The monkey bars, warn and rusted, that we had to take down and keep in the garden bed full of rocks.
The tiny plastic pool filled with tadpoles and frogs we tried to sell in a garage sale.
Gone. But not forgotten.
Will I, like these memories, live on?
Gone. But not forgotten?
Or will this bus take me away to my lonesomeness, where I am only a piece of dust in the grand spectrum of life?
