hiding in hearts

I let you go
once
already.

You snuck back in,
a child rolled up in business suits,
waiting for the suitcase to close,
for me
to take you with.

But no carry-on should weigh so much.
you snuck,
but not so well,
like a child,
I can tell

you're there.

First I played along,
almost hoping too,
that you could come.

I say aloud,
"my, my,

I hope

the flight attendant can load this one.
I seemed to have over packed."

you snicker in hidden space.

I sigh,
letting you down at the door,
knowing I can not leave
with you
as baggage.

"where I am going,
you cannot come."

Protest does nothing to change the fact.
My own want
wants nothing more
than to store you close,
for when I wish
to be near you.

"Where are you going?
may I come?"

Alas, you are not a child.
This, you never ask.

You, too comfortable in your place,
I, too dedicated
to my way.

Where I am going,
I wish you would come.