Lost Things

It’s around early afternoon here in Arizona, and the sun is shinning bright as ever illuminating all it touches. I haven’t really thought about what to write about today, so thoughts will come as I type. What is quite upsetting actually, is that I can’t find my iPod. I know you might think this is not really a matter worth discussing, but in a way– it is.

You want to know why? Because losing things matter to us. Why? Why do they matter so much? Sure, it was a gift, and I treasure the gift. I attach the iPod, with all its songs and videos to certain experiences. It’s sort of like losing some part of my history. I listened to it when I ran, or when I painted, or on long international flights when I traveled. It’s been around with me for several years… and I miss it. The thought of someone else finding it and looking at my personal choice of music makes me sad.

Yet… here I am, talking about trite matters such as a lost item, which frankly, can be easily replaced.

It’s just a song device after all.

When I was studying art history, I fell in love for the first time. I was young, independent, and thought I was invincible.

His name was David, and he had the bluest eyes I had ever seen. There was a party that night, celebrating the last day of classes and the promise of careless summer vacation. I was sitting on the grass, feeling the summer coolness on my cheeks, and my dark blonde curls tickling the side of my face. I saw him approach from a distance, an air of grandness to his lazy stride. He had a cigarette attached to his smirking lips, and exclaimed, with mocking authority, that he was the one I’d been waiting for all my life.

Back then, I thought the claim as intensely droll, and pompous.

Little did I know… he meant what he said.

The five and a half years I spent with him were a rocket ship destined for destruction– fast paced, terrifying, and unable to stop.

He died on a cold January night with his last breath on my shirt and my tears in his blood.

This is the story of Parachute Love, my 90,000 word memoir which was written during the winter of 2010, a little after I completed August Moon. It was cathartic in a way, but agonizing. I was living every moment, becoming the innocent little me all over again, trying to save a soul from crashing.

In the end, we both crashed.

I was left alone, lost, and without identity.

I looked for love in spurious places, only to have it turn against me like a slap in the face.

I am happy now, I’ve got all I ever wanted.

But some things never come back. They belong to a past treasured somewhere deep in our hearts…

Lost forever.

Peace, love and kindness,

Christina

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