Subway tears

I only cry on the subway.

On the subway, I am neither here nor there, temporarily untethered from the happenings of life. I am the journey, not the destination. I am both moving and stagnant.

In this limbo, my silent tears go unnoticed. They exist solely in the unwritten parts of my story—the inconsequential moments between plot points. During these finite periods of detachment, being vulnerable is a little easier, a little safer. And once I disembark, I leave the moment behind, pretending it never existed at all. I stretch my cheeks with a counterfeit smile and laugh as the departing train takes my tears away.