You're A Bit Too Late

I walk alone. I walk alone.

The city I tour is spotless. Nobody’s lived here. Ever. No friendships made, no relationships ended, no families grown.

The white sidewalks are sparkling clean. No one rushing, pushing other pedestrians by because they are late to their first day at the new company.  No one blushing in front of the latest crush after tripping on the uneven cracks in the sidewalk.

Because it’s too late.

The lines on the street are newly painted, reflecting the streetlights that are forever frozen on green. Go. Go. Go. But there are no cars, no pedestrians looking left, then right, then left again. Just like their mother taught them twenty years earlier. No one getting pulled over for the first time, hands trembling as they reach into the glove compartment for the insurance card. No one whispering, “I don’t even know what that is.”

Because it’s too late.

A quiet breeze blows a newspaper across the new, dark asphalt. I pick it up and it’s blank. No news. No honors won. No car crashes because there was no mother driving, putting on make up, and giving the baby a pacifier, all at the same time. Nothing done on accident. Nothing done on purpose. Nothing done at all.

Because it’s too late.

Further and further I go, until I stand in front of a picket fence protected home. It’s cream, and spotless. It looks like a home that a young couple would move into, with their two and a half children. But there is nobody and there is nothing. There is no tricycle on the front lawn, despite the young owner being told three times to put it away. There is no car in the driveway with a dent in the rear bumper. That’s how they met each other, after all. Except they never did. They never met because they don’t exist.

Because it’s too late.

My time is up. I took a little too long to realize that those friendships won’t forge themselves. That relationships won’t happen on their own. That families don’t grow without effort.

So I walk alone.

I walk alone.