A bitter ending is better than an endless bitterness.
I think as I bite my tongue. I can't believe I'm doing this. But I'm gonna walk off that train station platform. I'm gonna ride the Canada Line till the end of the line.
Until I forget my own name. Until I don't know where this brown coat I'm wearing came from. Until my brown eyes have faded into the black that they are. Until my roots have grown out again and I don't recognize myself for the thousandth time.
I'm going to leave if it kills me. And the truth is it might kill me. Memories of barking dogs and a blue sofa. Coffee rings and hot PlayStations.
My mom, crying silently in her room, my father whispering under his breath like we can't hear him. My brother, beating himself up over every little thing, and my elder sister - said absolutely nothing at all.
All of it. All of it. All of it.
Word by word, moment by moment. Horrible days are fading into background noise.
My mother's words now echo in the sound of train tracks. We're underground, and I don't know for sure where I am. And somehow I like it better that way.
I'm surrounded by total strangers, who have stories-brothers, fathers, mothers, like mine. I'm surrounded by people who want nothing more than their morning coffee, and a chance to step off the line.
A woman screams, slapping the cheeky grin off of the man next to her. I smile. I'm reminded of home.
