lj idol, some assembly required
Sometimes I wonder if I could reassemble my life out of all the things I've left behind.
It could start with the small, everyday losses. Receipts I never really looked at, some pencils, loose change. 'Buy 10, Get One Free!' cards for the coffeeshop I like. The paper I wrote someone's phone number on, a magazine I forgot I was reading, matches to all those single socks clogging up my drawer. They slip out of my life one at a time, with so little fuss that I rarely notice their absence.
Then there are the more noticeable losses, the ones I mourned but couldn't fix. A bag I left on the train, a phone that disappeared in the airport. My car keys. An earring that dropped somewhere on my walk, a favorite coat which I last saw in a taxi. Things that stayed lost after I checked the lost-and-found, or made hopeful calls to customer service lines, or retraced my steps.
Then there's the things I walked away from. Things I gave away or threw out when I thought I'd outgrown them, things I never knew I would miss. Books I gave away, later, when I didn't know I'd want to read them again, postcards and notes I didn't realize were irreplaceable. Everything that couldn't fit into a car, when I moved out of my parents house. By now I can't remember what those possessions were, but I remember they used to be mine.
And then there are the intangibles. A story I'd written out in my mind, which never made it to paper. The view from my old apartment. Being part of the neighborhood where I used to live. Plans I used to believe were possible. A job I liked, a language I used to halfway know. Friends I used to have but somehow misplaced, people's names that I've forgotten.
I imagine if they could be collected, brought together again, that I could simply turn a corner one day and find this mirror image of my existence waiting. But I'm not sure what it would be waiting for. Not me, I hope. The person who could own those things - live that life - is someone else entirely, and I think I lost touch with her a long time ago.
It could start with the small, everyday losses. Receipts I never really looked at, some pencils, loose change. 'Buy 10, Get One Free!' cards for the coffeeshop I like. The paper I wrote someone's phone number on, a magazine I forgot I was reading, matches to all those single socks clogging up my drawer. They slip out of my life one at a time, with so little fuss that I rarely notice their absence.
Then there are the more noticeable losses, the ones I mourned but couldn't fix. A bag I left on the train, a phone that disappeared in the airport. My car keys. An earring that dropped somewhere on my walk, a favorite coat which I last saw in a taxi. Things that stayed lost after I checked the lost-and-found, or made hopeful calls to customer service lines, or retraced my steps.
Then there's the things I walked away from. Things I gave away or threw out when I thought I'd outgrown them, things I never knew I would miss. Books I gave away, later, when I didn't know I'd want to read them again, postcards and notes I didn't realize were irreplaceable. Everything that couldn't fit into a car, when I moved out of my parents house. By now I can't remember what those possessions were, but I remember they used to be mine.
And then there are the intangibles. A story I'd written out in my mind, which never made it to paper. The view from my old apartment. Being part of the neighborhood where I used to live. Plans I used to believe were possible. A job I liked, a language I used to halfway know. Friends I used to have but somehow misplaced, people's names that I've forgotten.
I imagine if they could be collected, brought together again, that I could simply turn a corner one day and find this mirror image of my existence waiting. But I'm not sure what it would be waiting for. Not me, I hope. The person who could own those things - live that life - is someone else entirely, and I think I lost touch with her a long time ago.