You, with your unyielding schedule. Can't be late, can't wait for me.

Thirty seconds late? Too bad.

You see me running, calling to you. You know how much I rely on you,
and still you choose to turn your back on me and race away. And there
I am. Alone, panting, inches from having caught you.

I understand.

There are places to go, people to see. No time to waste on a petty
young girl who is constantly late. My needs are second to your
demands. Frustrating it is, though.

The world -- your world -- not revolving around mine.

Your constant traveling, millions of faces, back and forth, and still
no permanent destination. And I am simply one with the masses. You see
me and don't care, I am just like everyone else. Still panting, now
waiting, knowing eventually you'll return.

You'll be on time, of course, and I'll be late.