The Child Who Waited

The Child Who Waited

I kept waiting anyway.

I waited by doors,

by windows,

by phones that didn’t ring.

I waited for apologies

that never arrived,

for arms that never opened,

for a father

who never became a dad.

And the waiting became a part of me—

a shadow stitched into my ribcage.

Even when I laughed,

I was still waiting.