Sometimes I sit and ask myself who it was that put so many people into such small a space. On good days, when I’m lucky, I can shrink within myself and let the people pass over me as waves over sand. I move without effort, directing myself with barely a thought and am carried along with the tide. Good days are few and far between.
Other times, I stand firm and fierce but am immediately reminded of how unfortunately real I am. My body collides with other bodies, each touch locking my joints and sending electric panic down into my stomach. I have no senses left on which I can steady myself, the exit lost to the sight of a hundred smiling faces; the directions lost to the sound of a hundred conversations all forcing their way inside my skull.
Yet when the sun has set, and I sit unable to keep my limbs from shaking back and forth. I forget what it feels like feel the weight and the force of every person in a crowd, I forget my brain will always be my own, and I hope that tomorrow will be a good day.