coda

This final chapter circles back to the motion at the heart of it all. In the carousel of passengers, patterns begin to emerge—an eager nursing student followed by a burned-out nurse, a hopeful recruit followed by a haunted veteran. I began to imagine I could see the future in these pairings, like glimpsing the end of someone’s story in the face of another. But the truth is gentler, and stranger: there is no future. There is only the ride we are on, the moment we share, the open field of what might happen next. Time Machine is a meditation on that realization—on presence, possibility, and the gift of not knowing.

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