Searching

I thought about it for hours before I went to bed last night, but my subconscious still didn't help me to find it this morning. Instead I languished on the couch, crawled across the floor, and kowtowed my way into the bathroom without a sign of my lost one.

"I've had things stolen from me before, I'm used to the feeling" the comforting words of a friend when you realize you may have to purchase something you could never find. One last look in the oven, another glance in the couch cushion, adjusting the curtains and bed sheets, and a frantic panic in the attic.

Gone.

We are gone.

You are gone.

But the memory is not. And neither is the fine.