The train doors slide open and you step in and all around are the weathered faces, their bodies armored in down and layered in cotton. And you wonder if it's there. If on this morning they feel it, too. That we are, at once, so fragile-simple turns and twitches can destroy even the strongest amongst us-and yet so durable. That bodies bend and shape into so many forms. That dreams and desires burst from our hearts in as many varieties as the body has form. Some of us head to work, some home, some smile, some bow heads in retreat, some stand, some sit, some old, some young, and much in between.
And the train moves and shakes. It jolts every now and again to remind us that we are simply boxed in by sheets of steel held together by steel rivets. And we believe that the steel will hold and that, barring some inexplicable accident, we will arrive at our destination-some so much earlier and some so much later than expected. And, knowing that there lies obstacles beyond our control, we still walk through the sliding doors.
And it's there. In those that must now sit and those that choose to stand, in those that enter and those that leave. In those that hold in a robust laugh and those that hold in a pained sob, waiting for the doors to part at their destination so that they can let forth their emotion in the open. There are no words that accurately describe the feeling. But, it's penetrated our armor. It's a a vibe. It's a crescendo that rises from the depths of all that we've been given and all that we've lost. I swear to you there are mornings on the train where I feel it beating so strongly-as if we're standing directly above the pulse. And, even as the train plummets into the darkness below the streets, we pulse.
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