she sits on the third step
her knees pulled to her chest
watching the street
beneath the porch light
she knows what time
he said he’d come
she knows the difference
between waiting
and being forgotten
and still
every pair of headlights
makes her lift her head
she checks the time again
though she already knows
what it will say
the sky darkens and the warmth
leaves the concrete beneath her
she could go inside
she knows she should
but some stubborn part of her
keeps whispering
that maybe he has a reason
that maybe the next car
will slow down
that maybe
she misunderstood the promise
she didn’t
he said he would come
and he never does
eventually
she stands from the step
brushing dust from her jeans
with hands that don’t shake
until she’s turns away
she is old enough to know
what it means when someone
doesn’t show up
old enough to know
that sometimes
there isn’t an explanation
that makes it hurt less
so she walks inside
carrying the quiet certainty
that she had waited
for someone
who already decided
not to come
