As the mystery man blared for

the next and final stop, I stared between

the train tracks and the hollow black

that lay above it.

Stepping in, I sit in one of the tampered orange seats.

In front of me was graffiti, and beside me was a mother and

her two kids: one in a stroller and the other by her side.

Love was her best quality, though I shall never know.

A woman boards the train, headphones on,

walking discreetly to the opposite side of where

I was sitting. As the train wobbled back and

forth, I saw, on her phone, the image of a man,

whom she may have known, though I shall never know.

As I walk up the stairs to leave the subway station,

I see a woman in a dress, followed by a singular cameraman,

who laughed as the woman spun around in circles and circles.

He may have been her husband, may have been a friend,

though, still, a fact that I shall never know.

As I walked through the subway gates, I saw a girl

who looked just like my childhood best friend, though we

last saw each other more than ten years ago, separated

by a thick gust of forget, severed by a quick slash of truth.

Her last words, before she left, was “I got you a gift.”

Should she still remember me for that “thank you” in response,

I shall never know.

Just as I made it up the stairs, a man approached for some spare 

change. He bore a crooked smile, though not of a thief. His hair was

combed, though visibly dirty. His hands looked rough. The people

around me each took a stare, then walked by as if nothing was unusual.

There was a time, a time when I went to the city alone. As this time

elapsed, I realized that the train cart had lain still. The only thing that

kept the world moving was the people and possibilities that lay ahead of me.