Subway filtered light flickers. Crushed black trash decays in crevices. Stale air. The crowd gathers – to be expected.
“What happened?”
Ten years passed. That’s what happened. Less friends. More laying on of hands. Forced promises. Forced love. Forced. Pushed.
“Pushed,” someone says.
Thick sweat. Trapped heat. I slip away unnoticed, unzip and slide off the hoodie. Let it drift to the ground before I step on the Southbound train. The doors slide shut.
Rushed away. I bury you under.
Gravity defied. Sunshine. Fresh air. Surface.
