Waiting is the hardest part.
Sitting in the sterilized room.
Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Looking at the disinfected white walls.
Smelling the Purell on skin smell.
Waiting is hard.
What are they doing?
No one will tell me what happened.
Waiting is killing me.
The doctor walks out of the white walls through a white door,
comes and says something to mother.
Mother looks over and sighs.
Comes over, says 'We're going home.'
Get home. Someone is missing.
She'll never see me grow up.
Never know the things I see.
Never coming home.
Waiting.
The hardest part of waiting is waiting for something that will never happen.