She paints a picture in her head about the way this should have been,
could have been,
might have been.
She hasn’t been home since the age of ten.
Doesn’t quite know where she is going,
kind of ashamed about where she’s been.
She thinks she understands now,
but she doesn’t
and she won’t.
She sits back and watches her story unfold, where it ends no one,
not even her