Notes on the Author

As time goes on passing regularly, the way it does, or rather; the experience of sequential change/movement that we opt to call 'time', for ease and posterity's sake, occurs to be emblematic of 'shifting', 'movement' or continuance, I ruminate on all the articles I have lost, have left me, or am losing, until, surely and unavoidably, there will be nothing left to lose, at all; I will embody, and thus, own nought.
   In the past few weeks, in pursuit of work, much as 'time' is in pursuit of chasing its own tail, I have lost several things, supposedly dear to me. Initially, I recognised, amidst sobering up, that I had lost the eponymous sunglasses that had formulated part of my 'summer' image- both the resultant present from a memorable trade with my kin, and being of some expense- made them, in some way, irreplaceable. Soon, I realised, that the complimentary gold tie pin I had worn them with was also amiss. Little things, but they make for big changes, sometimes. (Or else a big dip in one's bank balance)
   A week later, in due circumstance, I lost my bag in a sprawling crowd of jubilant, near-maniacal, idolaters. I acceded to its loss and continued to 'lose myself', then, in the situation. Nevertheless, the bag was found and returned to me by kindly members of agency and the torpor of mixed emotions was replaced with happiness- only too soon. Making a quick, mental, itinerary, it was revealed that the bag was devoid of all its most precious content; the inks for my pen, my passport for being and a book of my writing. Consolable about all but the last, it was curious that, as I ran through every conceivable page within the book to know what I had written within it- of what was lost and what was not- this book; worth nothing, monetarily, had affected me so much more profoundly than anything else- than any insignia stamped by the governing bodies, or the gold that acted as functional decoration... But words, so incredibly intangible, that had once existed and belonged to me (if such a thing can ever 'belong' anywhere or to any person), and were then glimpses of my self; my exposition to the world; my own stamp that reflected I had lived and thought and was as such, and in being gone, had lost with it all my thoughts and feelings throughout this period of 'time' where I once was... This made me feel that I had lost a little of my self, so much the greater than any solid thing, and so much more the greater than any amount of money would take to recover.
   Just a month ago, or less, I had lost in unfortunate circumstance a golden chain that I wore around my neck. It, too, was a present from my father. It weighed heavily upon me- the sorrow of losing something that had been trusted to me; the guilt, the feeling of never having another, the lost physical presence of my father's love, but in time I had learned to do away with such things; to know that the self is not manifest in articles of gold, and a chain that wears around one's neck will slowly weigh them down further, beyond the emotional, and into the material and then, the avaricious. But what of words? If I choose to forgo them now, then I must forgo all that had come before, and so, never to be will they follow.