When I was little
I would hide for hours
Anxiously awaiting
Someone to come find me.

Excitement built as I waited
And wondered what people would feel
When they discovered me gone
Sadness?
Terror?
Desperation to find me?
Would I be showered in affection
When found unharmed?

But no one ever came
And I tried of my game
Much sooner
Than anyone missed me.

Sometimes, I still hide.

Instead of mere hours,
Days and weeks will go by...

As my resolve to wait
For someone to miss me strengthens,
The world notices I am gone
Much, much less.

I no longer want to give up
And reveal myself.

I want someone to find me.