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Lost and Found
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Taking things for granted is only another daily routine these days. The value of everything and everyone would suddenly leap the moment they vanish.
But then again, sometimes they come back, you know? Sometimes the lost is found again, and I wonder what does the lost and found feel? Glad to be back or reluctant to be rediscovered? Grateful to be retrieved or rueful to be neglected?
Be that as it may, that's not what happens in most cases: the lost stays lost. Lost from sight until they too are lost from mind. The memories remain, though, they could never be erased to the hilt. The episodes of pitiful feelings would then play out: missing the missing.
Don't you notice that feeling when you first found the lost? Don't you notice that you take extra care to the lost and found? Don't you notice that that attention wanes too over time?
What of the lost and never found? The missing hole where it once was evanesce too over time, doesn't it? What of the still lost when another is found? And what of the found when the still lost is searched for?
To seek the lost or to appreciate the found? Such a contradictory world we're living in, yet this world, too, we've been taking for granted without a care. We're here, in a world where unity within divergence is venerated, while being out of the box is encouraged. We're here, in a world where a mess is deplored, yet a mess it is that is constantly foraged for. Digging, you say? What for? A treasure chest or a lethal bomb? Or a lethal bomb in a treasure chest? Who knows?
Seek what can be found and bury the forever lost deep, deep down. Cherish the present and be grateful for all the little things you've been taking for granted. Be wary, for realization always flunks the attendance list.
A/N: I didn't intend to upload this due to two things at first, I'm short on free time and this is actually still messy af asdfghjkl
Post Scriptum
Due to one thing and another, I've come to a question I want us all to mull over: are you an altruist or a pacifist?
Love eternally,
Caera Keane
YOU ARE READING
Tall Tales
Short StoryProducts of my overactive imagination, whimsical thoughts, and restless mind. From a test to a car ride, the bed to the toilet, exasperation to consternation, these capricious randomnesses were born.
