week of loss

My phone was stolen.

My sunglasses fell and broke when I launched a surprise hug attack against a boy in Carabayllo.

My silver earring in the shape of a turtle probably washed down the drain in the shower.

Losing my earring reminded me how, years ago, I had lost the other turtle in the pair. Even as I endeavored to sever hopeless attachments, old associations surfaced like churned sedimentary rocks.

That can be nice, like looking at photographs, the ghosts of a finite instant.

Time, faithfully flowing forward, will carry more important things and people away from me in its current. Floating toward and away from each other at differentiated rates, we live in a perpetual progress of loss, losing each other and inevitably ourselves, though, all in our own good time.