Skinned knees, runny nose,
whispered secrets, no one else knows.
Seatmates, sleepovers, lights left on
being home alone, but never gone.
Back pain. Headaches. Early nights.
Colleague drama and muted fights.
Home alone means living alone
silence hums through a rented home.
Friends get married, wear gold bands.
Post ultrasound pictures, have mortgage appointments.
They build houses, brick by brick.
I build a bear: soft, stitched, quick.
Cleaning up. Laundry piles.
Dishes stacked in growing files.
Vacuum lines across the floor,
proof of effort but nothing more.
Friends move cities, states, seas.
Making new ones isn’t as easy.
You learn their stories, nod and smile
but you missed their younger while.
Relationships fade, no crash, no burn
just shorter texts and less return.
Work eats hours day by day,
takes the light and leaves the gray.
I don’t want to be a kid again.
But this part of growing up
this quiet trade of spark for stuff
… makes me feel a step behind,
out of rhythm, out of time.
Like everyone received the cue
and somehow I just never knew.