My cosmic Lost and Found box must be overflowing. . .

As a child, I lost toys and teeth, homework and skate keys, my new hat, and my report card.
But that was just the beginning.

The only reason I never lost a fortune is because I never made one, but,
I’ve lost races and games and
I’ve lost my cookies.
I’ve lost track of time, and I’ve lost track of friends.
I’ve lost books–library books, school books, and the books I haven’t written.
I’ve lost lighters and church keys.
I’ve lost consciousness.
I’ve lost my temper and my mind.
I’ve lost my patience.
I’ve lost keys and sunglasses, and
Ice cream from a cone.
I’ve lost letters and emails.
I’ve lost messages and reservations, tickets and directions.
I’ve lost my way.
I’ve lost my innocence.
I’ve lost faith and I’ve lost hope.
I’ve lost a fight.
I’ve lost halves of pairs…pairs of socks, pairs of shoes, pairs of gloves, pairs of contact lenses, pairs of earrings, and an unmatched pair of sisters.
I’ve lost sleep, and I’ve lost my wits.
I’ve lost weight, and I’ve lost my figure.
I’ve lost my chances and my luck, and some say
I’ve lost touch with reality.
I’ve lost control.
I’ve lost my voice.
I’ve lost tennis balls, golf balls, and bathing caps.
I’ve lost money, and–thanks to modern technology–I’ve lost my phone.
I’ve lost my footing.
I’ve lost out.
I’ve lost my mojo.
I’ve lost youth to experience, and weddings to marriage..
I’ve lost my nerve.
I’ve lost a house, and I’ve lost a home. I’ve lost sunshine to clouds, tan lines to wrinkles.

I’ve lost love. I’ve lost perspective. I’ve lost stillness and solitude. I’ve lost the center.

 

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