Where all the Lost Things Go I have long since forgotten about all the little lost things. I have always wondered where all they go. I think that's where I belong, among the crumpled notes in your old backpack and the faded words of your favorite childhood book. Among the pictures clipped somewhere inside that old drawer you had when you were 5, under the stacks of journals you longed to finish but never did. The things you stopped searching for, as if they never existed in the first place. I suppose some things are better lost than found, and of all the things I've lost, I think I miss my mind the most. I am gone but not forgotten, not quite yet at least. I am among all those things you've been looking for, yet I'm not looking to be found. It seems everywhere I go I am the monster. My appearance is only responsible for the few who actually look at me, but my spirit always sends them running. That's why I stopped searching for the answers because they were never meant to be looked for. Perhaps they were never there. Nonetheless, they didn't want to be found, and now I understand why. I suppose I am like answers, I don't want to be found but there are always questions trying to find me. And then they stop. They give up, they forget. And your body may remain, but your spirit is gone. I am only telling you all this because I hope you don't know what it's like, and if you do, I'm not the being to ask for advice.

I guess I'm not really a person because a person has a heart and a soul and a spark. But I am none of those things. I wonder why.

A "little" installment in a story/perhaps a novel/ I am writing. Maybe we are not all fully lost, but we all have a glimpse of what its like, the place where lost things go.