The girl steps onto the train, leans against the closed doors, and beckons her companion to join her. Her girlfriend steps into the open arms, and I watch as they snug themselves together, fitting against each other. It is so achingly sweet, such a simple familiar choreography of movement. I realize how much I miss, not touch, but having a body be so familiar. Knowing just how the shoulder cants, the ribs align, the hip notches, to meld into comfort.

People on the train smell surprisingly good, their first of the morning smells, still of clean and soap, tea and toast. I am standing at the bottom of the subway stairs, waiting for my chance to ascend and the bright blue sky hovers above me like a balloon. When I burst up from the station my headphones are playing Liz Phair’s “Extraordinary” and I can swing down the street in joy.