The Rearview Mirror

Oh, little girl,

crystal tears on her cheeks,

his face, almost a memory

in the rearview mirror.

Not once does he look back,

spelling a bitter goodbye,

as he drives away.

Bright taillights flashing in broken finality,

hopeless, red and white,

blinking away rain.

Like her tears.

Like she meant nothing.

Was it so easy for him to just walk away?

To give her up?

Oh, little girl,

trying so hard to prove her worth,

to win,

to earn,

to yearn for his approval.

Desperately begging for any little scrap,

only to realize that it was an impossible feat.

She wasn’t loved enough,

or good enough,

to be loved.

So, she learned never to hope,

that expectations are a disappointing luxury.

She keeps her head down,

falling into the cracks,

disappearing like the little dust motes

through the elusive ray of sun,

peeking through drab mustard-colored curtains.

His face,

now a memory,

in the rearview mirror.