Writer: Patricia Zhang

Editor: Alloe Mak

as i sit in this subway seat, i think that i am in the mood to write.

my boyfriend reads vonnegut beside me—mother night—and i look outside for a brief glimpse of the outdoors. davisville. 

it’s the evening, and i watch passively as streetlights pass by me. i think about going on my phone; it’ll be a long time until i get service again. but i feel a need to stare. moments like these are short-lasting. everything is too peaceful, and i think this as i look outside into the impending darkness. i must watch until i can notice that the outdoors have shifted from the mother night into subway tunnels. 

there are too many people, i think. too many people on the subway whom are different and that i do not know. man with mustache, homely-looking woman with blue cap—i am overwhelmed by the different types of human. 

and i’m so tired. 

i want to go home and sleep, and i want to be in the arms of my boyfriend, and i want to feel his face between my hands.

as i stare up at the cheap fluorescent lights of the subway, i think of all of those i met today, and of those whom i will never speak to again. i think of my love whom i know better than anyone else, and beside him, an old asian lady with choppy highlights whom i will never know. and whom i will forget as soon as i arrive at my destination.

elderly woman gets off at sheppard yonge, guy with the cool led zeppelin shirt got off at around eglinton. lady with uncle testu cake, fake prada bag, and heeled flats takes his seat. they all look tired—eager to go home and sleep. 

next stop is mine, and then i go on the bus for 20 minutes to walk 12 minutes more. i go home again and again to my mother and promises of a sibling who will come next week, or the week after that. 

i am so tired. 

i haven’t even noticed that half of the people on the subway have already left. the streams of people cease. all i want is some comfort, some sense of belonging, and some way of feeling grounded.

my blue jeans against his white cargos.

the mother night fading into black walls.

i’m at my stop.