The Girl Who Reads on the Subway and Doesn't Look Up

I ride the train like it's a moving library—doors screech, people shift, but the sentences keep flowing. I don't look up because the light through the window, the weight of the book, the silence between paragraphs—they all feel like part of the same sentence. I speak when I have something to say, not just to fill the space. And I don’t need saving from solitude. I chose it. I wear it like a second skin.