my feet only move so fast as my skirt allows
I push the limits of the cheap threading with every overarching step
I scuttle towards the fated door, But
the hope that once kept me on my feet now brought me to my knees

“She’s not here. You are too late.”

the voice somehow muted the indistinct chatter
and the feeling that remained can only be described as empty space

I quickly zoned back in
Furiously grasping at any possible, reasonable, excusable way for
me to deny that I had messed up.

Their snide puffs of laughter blowing the ashes of hope that had burned my eyes and hands and smacking it back in my face.

Then i was finally alone,
the calm after the storm
the moment where it hit me
that i had to come face to face with my blundering mistake
Irreparable, immutable, and all those other spelling bee words that simply meant

I was too damn late.