It’s almost midnight
as the bus pulls out
of Pensacola, Florida.
I wave one last time
to my parents
through the window.
In my mom’s eyes
I see the resolute acceptance
that she may never
see me again.
Many times we have parted,
yet each is like the first
to a mother’s love.
My dad’s feelings
are hidden behind
a supportive smile
as he puts his arm
around mom.
She has him
to take care of;
she’ll be alright.
Somehow it doesn’t
feel like goodbye,
rather, a new beginning.
It’s hard to believe
that I am here;
I’ve spoken in the future tense
for so long.
It feels like a dream.
In a way, it is.
Dreams,
those lofty aspirations
we hope
and pray for,
yet rarely achieve.
Often no more
than mere fantasies
we create
to give us purpose
and keep us alive.
How strange
to be living one out.
Is this even real?
The racing of my heart
says yes.
So soon into the long
ride to Miami,
my past, my home,
everyone I’ve ever known
seem so distant.
There is only
this moment
and those to come.
Suddenly,
Ireland is not
so very far away.