The Train I Never Caught

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Why do I always feel like I’m waiting?  

Like the sky has paused mid-sigh, And time, has forgotten to include me in its forward march.

I stand beneath clocks that tick for someone else, watching people depart with lives that fit them better than I fit this moment.

Like I’ve arrived at the station five minutes too late, And the train I was meant to take never even stopped, not for me.

I held a ticket in my hand, creased from too much hope, warmed by palms that prayed for just one sign. One slow whistle. One lingering glance.

But life has a habit of being cruelly efficient, it doesn’t wait for the girl who reads too deeply into silences, who builds cathedrals out of maybe.

So I sit, legs curled under stories, writing poems on empty platforms, watching sunrises arrive on tracks that never welcomed my name. And still, I wait.

Because somewhere, in a parallel breath, the train stopped. I just didn’t run fast enough.



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