By the time I get off this train, the world will be different. Though, I will not be changed. Mounds of towering pines blurred in the periphery, washed out by the speed of a snap decision. I can see the world from here – from inside this cab, this rounded-corner window, the face reflecting back at me, the passenger across from me whose lap I rest my feet. Billows of white drift on the horizon, trying to catch up to my escalating train before dusk taints their purity with soft pinks, purples and oranges. The passenger shifts in his seat. He is mostly unfamiliar to me, and we do not know our destination. It will be night soon, and I wonder if I will sleep. My anticipation is too great – to feel like the only two on the dark expanse of stretching distance, to see the stars and wish upon them, to see the mounds of pine diffuse into small bushes scattered on miles of flat terrain, the terrain melting into salty sea. The world is changing right in front of me.