On my eleventh birthday, I waited.
And waited.
And waited…
Its just late, I think to myself.
One week passed. See how three little words can tell how much time has passed? Soon, that week turned into a month. That month turned into three months.
My enthusiasm wavered. I'm starting to think it may not be late…
One year passed. I am twelve years old. I know its not coming. My optimism is turning into pessimism…
I am now thirteen years old. Every year on my birthday, I look at the moon and pray. I pray it will come. That it may be a mistake…
I am now sixteen years of age. My parents have kicked me out. They are ashamed. They say they have never been so disappointed in anyone.
It is my birthday… I know it will never come. I look at the moon and wonder where I went wrong. I wonder if my parents do love me. I wonder….
Somewhere a child is getting the letter I've spent my life hoping to get.
Hope.
I don't believe in hope anymore. You ever hear that phrase "karma's a bitch"? Well, hope is a bitch. That is what I believe.
Somewhere in the distance I hear a faint hoot of an owl… but I know it will not come for me.