I am going to tell you something hardly anybody knows, but not a secret exactly. Are you ready? All the lost things are still there, on the shadow side of the moon.

On the shadow side of the moon you will find odd socks, coat check tickets, the entire catalog of the library of Alexandria and the brass coffee grinder I misplaced between one move and another, that one that used to belong to my great grandmother which crossed I don’t know how many borders until it fell, unlucky, into my hands and then straight back out again.

When I was young, people said when you are given a gift, you must accept it with a slightly open hand, permit it the option of leaving if it chooses. This was to show humility, and a lack of greed, I suppose. In this way so many, too many things ran through my slightly open hands, between my fingers, and so there on the shadow side you’ll see the person I would have been had I stayed on the bus that time, you’ll see my grandmothers, one embroidering and the other making coffee, you’ll see every love letter I ever received and could not keep any longer (my god, all those words, and where did they leave me when they left me?) — you’ll see everything, everything.

When the moon rises I look away, there is something about everything continuing to exist forever that I find unbearable, and in any case I don’t want any of it back, anymore.