i'd like to be late
so late
to everything and everyone else's welcome party
maybe the kind of late that makes you wonder if i would ever come in the first place
waiting, standing in line
in the rain, just so late
walking slowly before the buses rush through you;
letting your hair dry on the way
your soles get wet and your feet get swollen
a layer of skin so thick and rusty it bounces off you like a bandaid.
so late that even my steps are heard from a mile away,
a person long forgotten, a becoming
maybe even so late that no one will be waiting for me,
no cake left,
no parties
no rain.