She sat at a bus stop,
tracing brick-loads of doubt
                      with her finger.
She waits.
She is not waiting.
She is not sure what she is doing.
Were there ever pink candles
                       on a birthday cake?
A little girl skipping
.                   with other little girls.
Another standing still memory of
.            impeccable social standing.
Too many bothersome thoughts
                      prickling in her head.
"I used to like to dance", she shares
          with a picture of her husband.
Stupid man.
He only loved her when it suited him.
"That's alright", she whispered,
          "He saw me in a whole new light
              when I drove my knife into
                                                  his *****."
She wondered how much longer she'd have
                     to wait for him to bleed to death
                                         on her kitchen floor.
Hopefully soon.
She had dishes to do.
Laundry to fold.
She could do for a
        nice cup of coffee.
She stretched out her legs.
It looked like it would rain today.