Loss
Any loss, big or small, leaves a hole.
When the first significant person died in my life, I felt a hole. I started having dreams of walking the halls of my old elementary school but waking to remember it had been torn down years ago.
Notebooks and journals are far more insignificant but still send me into a spin. It’s a part of me I can’t get back.
(There is the story of the luggage full of Hemingway’s first short stories getting lost, and I sometimes wonder whatever happened to them.)
So when it happens, and there’s no chance for recovery, we can mourn, but at some point, we must move on. Open the book, turn on the computer and begin again. It’s the only way to move past it.
( And yes, this happened, and I am still feeling the loss.)
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