i was never loved enough to be kept,
to be found again.
You know when you’ve lost or misplaced something, like your favorite sweatshirt or a set of keys, and while looking for it, you come across something else you once missed and have either long forgotten or been trying to forget? Whatever it may be, at one point, you decided to stop searching. Perhaps it was no longer needed in your life. It no longer needed you. You outgrew it and a replacement was found. For better or worse, you sensed in that moment it won’t be missed. It’s as if it never existed in the first place — until the rediscovery sparks your memory like a flash of recognition you probably didn’t need, or so you tell yourself. You’ve been just fine without it after all, haven’t you? Or at least you continue to pretend.
We all have one — a library of touchstones waiting to found, remembered or stumbled upon again. Longing to be acknowledged for the worth they once held in your life. Wishing to be a fragment of your thoughts instead of one tucked away into your archives, a memory bank you know you’ll never revisit. I think this is where I’ve been placed, where it seems I belong. Among the lost particles. Crumbled up, half-finished letters at the bottom of a drawer that never would have made a difference if sent. Old photographs folded in half and pressed between the pages of a book to make them that much more difficult to find and care for. A broken record player you spent countless nights listening to those same songs that reminded you of what you let go of, until you grew sick of them.
I shouldn’t, but I still hope you’ll find me again someday amongst them all, and remember what you said I meant to you — everything and more. Because there’s a point to all of this, and it’s always been us.
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