Dear Subway,

Most people in New York City spend ¼ of their life moving through you
and some avoid you like the plague.
Some like you very much
and some hate you with a passion.
I have a love-hate relationship with you.
I like you.

You’re not a specific place
or a specific train or even just one integrated system.
You’re everything that's inside of you,
the people traveling,
the hostile architecture,
the beautiful mosaic tiles,
the unhoused individuals,
the woman carrying her children on her back and selling fruits,
the annoyed stranger who was trying to enter the car,
and also the tourist who stands right in front of the door and doesn’t budge,
the couples who cannot for the love of god maintain some physical distance,
the kids with their knees on the seat turned towards the window watching life pass by,
you are all of them.
I cannot locate you.
But I know you.

I know there is the good, the bad, and the ugly to you,
you consume this city
and you vomit this city,
you run underneath and elevated,
you bring people together
and lead them back.
I will not say you're the same to all, you are not.
For me, I can run into you and I can run out
I can choose to stand and I can find a seat in the middle of the car,
I know you try
and I adore you for that….

You are the pause in between the exhausting day of work and the quietude of home,
you are the songs and the music and the performers,
you are the overwhelming crowd, you’re the loud noise and intrusive thoughts,
you are the art, beauty, culture and the melting pot,
you are the portal to the many many lives we live,
you’re so many love stories
and also the missed connections,
so much warmth and so much hate,
you are also the stranger offering kindness
and the anonymous person being shot at your door step.
You’ve seen so many lose hope
but have also seen so many choose life everyday.
You’ve seen people complain about your old rusty looks
but also compliment you on your new attire.
You’ve seen people cry and complain and laugh and jump,
you’ve seen it all.

121 years.
472 stations.
25 lines.

You hold together all kinds of people.
You’ve looked after the unhoused who often disappear into the shadows.
You’ve created homes and broken some.
You’ve held the pieces of NYC together.

It’s crazy how much I love this city,
the pebble beach, the city skyline, the diversity,
the food, the people, the parks, the waterfront,
I can go on and on about the things I love about New York.

But you, you’re my favorite of all,
you make all of it possible.