Sometimes I Lose Things

Sometimes I lose things.

Sometimes it's little things.

Things like my ipod or my keys.

Bobby pins and chapsticks often evanesce without warning or cause.

Sometimes I lose bigger things.

Things like my favorite sweater or my school bag.

Things like the reason I came into a room,

Or the memories of what I had for breakfast that morning.

Sometimes I lose my train of thought, or the point I was trying to make or an idea.

Sometimes I lose arguments.

Sometimes I lose friends.

I like to think all the things I lose go to the same place.

A plain white place full of hair ties and dollar store bracelets,

And I like to think they all wait there, patiently.

Wait there to be found.

One day I lost my passion.

It floated away like a helium balloon drifting toward the sun.

But I couldn't let it go.

I chased it into the sky,

Past the moon and the stars and the milky-way,

And I followed it into the white place,

And I faced a sea of bobby pins and hair ties and chap-sticks.

I faced all those lost arguments and ideas and aspirations and promises,

And I told them I was sorry.

They asked me why I never came looking for them, why I'd let them disappear.

I just told them the truth. I said,

Some things need to be lost, so new things can be found.

I tied my passion to my wrist with a piece of twine,

Let it float above my head like a guardian.

It reminds me that so long as that knot holds,

(I double-tied it just to be safe),

It doesn't matter how many things I lose,

I'll keep what