Little losses

     I pack the ballet slippers tightly into my red suitcase. There they go, another loss.

    I have to just move on. I pick up the suitcase. I'm in the airport of life. Every one's rushing and hurry to get somewhere.  

    I run into another loss.

    I shove a long berry colored dress in there too. It won’t zip. I have to sit on it.

    I hear voices. Flight 789 is boarding. I look down at my ticket. “ Flight 917, Gate E 15.” I’m in gate “A.” It will be a long while before I get there.

    I keep going, but I have to stop again. I’ve run into another loss and I can’t carry it in my hand. It goes into the front pocket.

    It’s probably fifty pounds now. If not more.  

    The pilot  texts me, "It's okay to check it."

    But that would take time, and then I can't keep moving.  I’d have set the suitcase on the scale and weigh it.  I'd have to remember how much it hurts.

    This is not a big loss. It’s a just a carry on full of little ones. There's no reason to mourn it. I'm only one who thinks it's heavy. No one died. These are just wants. I have something better, I know that.

    But the wheels keep rolling behind me.
            
                                            My arm is starting to ache.
               
                                                                     It's holding me back.