On missing things.

I was telling someone how I struggle, every year as the weather gets cooler, with the sudden influx of all these new places where I could’ve possibly stashed the things I need.

Jean jacket, cardigan, a couple bags that have been languishing since way back in May. I was standing around in the doorway, feeling around for my sunglasses in the top pockets of my chore coat, if that even was where I’d left them.

I can’t find anything in the first weeks of fall. Chapsticks, house keys, crumpled bills. Sometimes I feel like my brain is running background tasks while I’m off somewhere else, too busy to pay attention to what’s right in front of me.

All my things slowly disappear, I said, and I just hope someday they return to me.