The bus that never came

A soft goodbye to the life I once dreamed

I dreamed of a one-floor house,
a beautiful garden,
four children with loud voices,
and me,
in a white dress
with a messy bun,
carrying a bag that holds everything
for everyone.



That noise --
the joyful chaos,
the kind I grew up in --
was my rhythm,
my habitat.
It felt like a natural expectation,
because it was once so naturally given.



But I was wrong to think it would be easy.
I lacked in everything,
but somehow,
I had it all.



Now I'm blessed with the things I once craved,
but I lack what I thought was guaranteed.
And it's sad --
to stand at a bus stop,
not realizing that the bus that dropped you off
was the last one.



You keep waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting --
imagining how perfect the next one will be.
Better.
Greater.
Warmer.
But it never comes.



Maybe I'm not meant to have what I was born into.
Maybe I'm not meant to have it all --
not at the same time,
not in this timeline.
Maybe I'm meant to take the walk alone.



Not bitterly.
Not in defeat.
But with a quiet mourning --
for the house,
the garden,
the noise,
the dress,
the children
MY children,
and mostly --
for him.



The man I thought I was incomplete without.
The bus that never came.