She stood at the bus stop til it was abundantly clear he wasn’t coming, her whole being filled with abandonment, fear, guilt. Her white dress, dark with mud at the hem, grew heavier with each tick of a clock she couldn’t hear with her ears – only with her heart.
100 golden balloons sparkled in the pale setting sunlight. She stared at them, willing them to tarnish with her dreams, but they remained bright, shining, mocking. 100 golden ribbons wrapped around her hand, holding her, rooting her to the spot.
Night falls, the stars come out. 100 golden balloons, 100 golden ribbons, abandoned at the bus stop, tied to the post. Lonely footprints, a trail of broken promises and unseen tears, wander off into the quiet dark.