I stood on the Bedford Avenue L platform in Williamsburg on Thursday night waiting for two things that were not coming.
The L train. And a text from a boy.
The board said eight minutes, then twelve, then it just gave up and showed nothing at all, which is honestly the most emotionally accurate the MTA has ever been.
I kept refreshing my phone. Nothing. He had left me on read since Tuesday, which in modern terms is roughly a decade.
We went out three times. Coffee in Nolita, drinks in the LES, a walk across the Williamsburg bridge where he said something almost tender and I let myself, for one stupid second, hope.
And now I was on the Bedford Avenue L platform performing the ancient ritual of pretending I was not waiting.
Here is what I have decided about waiting. It is fine to wait for a train. The train is a system, indifferent, it will arrive when it arrives and it owes you nothing but eventually it comes.
A person is not a train. If a person makes you refresh your phone on a subway platform in Williamsburg for four days, the person has already arrived at their answer. They just did not want to say it out loud.
My Ma has a phrase, jaane do. Let it go. Not dramatic, not bitter. Just, let the thing that is leaving, leave.
The L finally came. Packed, of course. I squeezed in next to a man eating a whole sandwich standing up, and I deleted the thread. Not angrily. Just the way you close a window when the room gets cold.
Some trains come late. Some texts never come. Learn the difference and you will save yourself so many platforms.
Love,