Lost and Found

At what point do we decide that all is lost and lost for good, or lost and just waiting to be found, its breath bated, willing us on?

It’s a grand game of Hide and Seek. A small child, hiding in the wardrobe, desperate to be found – that delicious feeling of being scared but somehow safe – and sad too, because when you’re found, then the game will change and it might even be over.


Opening our eyes is the ultimate game-changer.

It’s rock bottom for some, for others, a whisker shy. It’s death or the next-worst thing, loss or pain. For some, the lucky few, it’s a bullet dodged.

Some will take a whole lifetime or even another lifetime altogether to get good and angry, get a good head of steam and stop long enough,

to take their nose off the grind stone and/or the wine and/or the coke and/or the screen (oh, the dreaded screens!)

Tipping the scale from bearable, just, to “completely and utterly don’t you fucking dare”?

Is it a loud noise that drags us away long enough from the distraction,

forcing us to look around and wonder how the hell we got here and where did we park the car?

For some, for me, it was never, ever being where I thought I was going to be. Do you think it’s written in the stars or etched on our souls? I’m not sure, but if it was the tattoist was a sadist.

Or just maybe I was smarter when I was simply awareness, with no distracting pain, or passion.

It’s been Deus ex Machina, death, loss, pain, and illness and then they tell me it could have been joy?

The nerve.

I don’t believe them, because the best way to find the air when you’re drowning is to push off the sand.

Feature Photo by Christopher Campbell on Unsplash


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