Debris

I am forever left behind. At every phase of my life I've been the late bloomer, the last-comer. It is a pattern, a motif, it is my brand. Always watching the others before me go through the motions of things that I am waiting for. Then, when I finally arrive at the picnic spot on the lawn where everyone else has already stamped down the grass, it seems hollow, cardboard. I'm not able to savor it since I've already been left behind on the next milestone.