Stand Clear of the Closing Doors, Please.

This is 86th St. The next stop will be 79th St. Please stand clear of the closing doors. Subway. No, not the sandwich shop. The transportation mechanism that gets us to and from. Eyes cast down, headphones in. From one end of the city to the other. If you ever want proof of the zombie apocalypse, get on the 1 train at 4pm. It’s like we’re trapped in this awkward limbo where it’s still polite to ask how you are but we don’t actually care. Life has become this all encompassing thing. Work, school, work, research, old friends, tell me in ten words or less and stand clear on my closing doors. Do you ever get so caught up in your own existence that you forget that you’re not the only face on this planet? I do, everyday and the voice inside my head fluxgates between my mother and the automated voice on the train asking me to stand clear of the closing doors. And I am terrified that someday I won’t be able to tell the difference. So I force my head up. The smile on my face is determined to spread happiness. Sure, I might look like a serial killer 52% of the time. At least I know I’m trying. So, I’ll come before you and I’ll say I can’t promise you the world. But what I can promise? That when the world is speeding by and everyone is asking you to please stand clear and you feel like you’ll never be able to make it, I’ll be there to hold the door open and let you in.

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