Today the air inside of the C train is as cold as a stillborn. Today is the first day in a week that I am riding the subway desperate to meet nobody. A row of faces across from me, some thin like my mother’s and some swelling with ghosts the way yours does. I do not love any of them. Picture: us standing with snow pale as the body of a grandmother beneath our feet. Picture: bruises and teeth marks lining my body like the passengers of this subway lining the orange and yellow seats. Your hands were strong enough to break gods.