Maybe Tomorrow

Maybe Tomorrow
I don’t know why I carry my phone with me; it seemed the most pointless thing. It wasn't as though anyone would call anyway and yet I kept it in my pocket in the hopes of that small vibration would be a sign of someone trying to reach me. Ha! As if…
Back in my pocket I put it, brushing against my leg as my jeans rubbed against my thigh. I’ve come this way before hadn't I? Doesn't matter. I would always end up in the same place.
No one bothered to acknowledge my existence, didn't matter it wasn't anything personal as no person was bothering to look or talk to anyone. I mean I may as well have been born a sheet of cellophane, ‘Mr Cellophane’ that’s what they’d call me. Mr Cellophane. A person is made of more than air! With all that bulk, you're certain to see him there, right? Unless that person is unimpressive, undistinguished… well, me.
Oh well. Heads down, headphones on, anti-people shield up.
“Welcome to the Subway” said the voice from the speaker above. It’s hard to understand sometimes with that annoying crackle, but you begin to understand it after a while; it becomes a new language almost.  
There was no noise apart from the occasional cough from the old woman sitting across from where I was standing. Everyone here just wanted to get to their destination. I guess I was the same.
I always found myself here, gazing lifelessly out into the opaque darkness which was only interrupted by the reflection of my face in the window. Staring back at me from the darkness. I like to pretend I can see images of other things in the window as they go past, a brother picking up his younger sibling to play, a mother bending down to kiss her child, a house – but more than that – a home, a feeling of such tranquillity and security that’s ruined as I dig further into the memory of a forgotten past.
A boy yelling at is mother accidentally knocking her over as he pushes past her in anger, hiding the bruise of two days past only just turning yellow. These...