So when I realize that I have lost it, I remain discouraged…
Sometimes I lose an object by accident.
Something slips out of my purse or backpack while I’m trying to get the rest of my stuff, and I don’t notice it.
These are not always important items.
Sometimes they are, but not always.
Often they are small things : a lip gloss, a scarf, a hair clip.
Other times it is an object that I love, that is connected to my past : a photo or an object that was given to me by someone I loved or who loved me.
So when I realize that I have lost it, I remain discouraged.
Timidly, I try to look around, searching the floor and digging deeper into my bag to find what I had jealously guarded for so long and which I had thrown away in a moment of distraction.
If it is an object that is particularly dear to me, then its disappearance takes on an absolute value, and a sense of guilt and grief resurfaces, which always leads to a moment of sadness.
Whenever this happens, I think of all the lost things that were dear to me, and yet I kept believing that they were not really lost forever.
I wanted to imagine that they had been collected in an ideal place, in an unreal limbo populated by everything in the world that was lost.
A kind of closet where each object is cataloged and carefully stored.
And who knows, one day, far away and without a specific date, someone will ring the doorbell of my house and deliver to me a chest containing everything I never hoped to find again.
A trunk full of objects of which I remember every detail and which bring back memories of emotions long gone.
Inside I would find everything : slightly faded photographs, wrinkled scarves, mismatched earrings, pennies from other places and other times, keys to distant houses I would never live in again.
