We look for past things not where they are, but where we'd imagine them to be-

                             dusty corners / behind doors / the bottom of the sea.

Lost forever but never forgotten is the only way we perceive. 


But really they've left too,


on a pursuit to follow you.




You, in that present moment, weren't the sun on which their survival relied,


you were merely a passerby,


experiencing an instance in your sacred life.




These old things that you're missing, they're all surrounding you-


You find them unbeknownst in

faces / trains / rain drops / a stormy sky turned blue.

If things all around trigger memories of past happenstance,


then time is not a linear line


but an ebb and flow type dance.



Nothing is ever dusty, lost, or used-


but in quite the contrary a perpetual state of being constantly made new.