I have in my hand a ticket
One that I bought
hours after the train had departed.
It's heavy in my grip
This featherweight slip of paper
I fold it into a heart
but easily it rips.

I bought this ticket
after the train was long gone
after it was so far away I knew
I could never catch up.
But the ticket is so lovely --
a paper heart forever mine.

And I deceived myself into believing
that if I waved this ticket enough
The train long gone
it would come back; it would chase
me
instead.

So I won't tell anyone of my purchase
For it is embarrassing to say
that I wanted to take a train
already Gone, for good.
They would mark me stupid.

They would take my heart away.