I think I’ve checked the bag
    enough times for it to file a restraining order.

Lets see…
    - The chargers: coiled like snakes—
                    that definitely won't behave
    - The clothes:  all in— creased with ambition,
                    and maybe one shirt too confident
    - The snacks:   chosen with more care
                    than some of my major life decisions
    - The gear:     lugged around like I'm one resistance
                    band away from a life breakthrough

There’s nothing left to pack.

Hope? Already in there.

Tucked beside the socks I only wear
    when I’m feeling like a version of myself
    you’d actually enjoy hugging.

This morning I stood in front of the mirror
    like a man about to propose to his carry-on.

Gave it one last look, zipped it shut like it was sacred.

And then I just stood there.

Not because I forgot anything.

But because I couldn’t believe
    everything I needed…

    fit so easily into a bag this small.

Emotionally, I’ve been packed for days.

Carefully folded patience.

Rolled-up anticipation.

Shoes laced with subtle desperation,
    and the casual swagger of a man
    who knows exactly how to land

    in a city that already feels like a second home.

I thought about bringing a gift.

But really—
    what’s better than
    me,
    freshly laundered,
    mints at the ready,
    a playlist that understands the assignment,

    and the kind of nervous energy that makes me
    smell said shirt one more time before you do?

My flight leaves soon.

But I’ve been en route since sometime around your last selfie.

There’s nothing left to double-check.
    Nothing left to pack.
    Not even one more sleep,
    just one little shift of the Sun,
    and me— on my way to you…

    unfolding across time zones like I never left.