Poet

Late

5:30, she said. He agreed. 5:30 came around and she waited in his favorite clothes at the front door. 5:45 had arrived, and she made an excuse for you. He ran out of gas. There was traffic. So she sat down, and waited some more. The clock struck 6:00, and just like Cinderella, she was losing shoes. Taking the heels off her feet, she told herself that he was still coming. 6:30, and her hair was thrown up in a ponytail, and the television was flipped on. 7:00. She cried as she peeled the clothes off of her and slipped on her sweatpants. 7:30. She wiped off her makeup and let the makeup wipe fall into the trash with a little bit of hope. 8:00. You came around and found herself curled up, and wondered why she looked like she did. When you woke her and asked that exact question, she responded with, Because every hour your late, is an hour of my trust you lose. And by this time. You have lost me completely.