A Vivid Memory from when I ran away.

Leaning on the window of a moving bus, so many times I remember  waiting for night, and waiting to leave the city and the station. I travelled east and west for days without a plan and without a single opinion, letting strangers carve out the hollowness I would later feel in the evening silhouette of mountains and evergreens, letting that hollowness become me, and it is still with me. Those peoples' eccentricities forced on me like I had just joined a club the rest of humanity had for so long bitterly been a part of. Their conversations and inquiries, scents, and destinations taught me that everyone is alone when they're not children anymore.  We are only each others' broken mirrors. I remember that vibrating cool glass against my cheek and cross-country landscapes lulling me to sleep. I dreamt of nothing and always woke up to a dream state.  What was I doing? Where was I going? Who were these impersonal faces?