The Afterthought

I stand on the sidelines, camera in hand,

watching their stories like grains of sand.

Each birthday a feast, with laughter so loud,

yet I’m just a shadow, lost in the crowd.

A half-eaten cake sits, sweet icing untouched,

while they share their triumphs, dreams freshly clutched.

I’m the afterthought, the footnote of joy,

a fleeting moment, the invisible boy.