Lost & Found
Lumbering through lockdown
Lost stands at the window, the day outside a clone of every yesterday.
“The clouds are crying, all the world’s a tissue,” he mumbles.
Found opens his eyes, looks past the crooked silhouette into the thick soup of nimbostratus.
“It’ll blow over, dear. Come and sit back down.”
Lost turns away from the resolute downpour, shuffles back to the sofa.
“I need to go into town.”
“Why do you need to go into town, dear?”
A frown swims onto Lost’s forehead.
“To return books, the library,” he says finally, nodding.
“Can’t it wait, dear?” Found takes hold of Lost’s hands.
Lost savours the warm touch. His eyes fill, tears topple out unhurriedly, as though they had unlearned the mechanics of falling.
“A good book is open to be read again,” he sniffles.
Found smiles softly, pulls Lost to him. Lost yields to the familiar succour of embrace.
“Now, now, dear,” Found says, setting the pair into a slow, rocking motion.
Lost’s gentle snores nuzzle the stoic silence. In the uncounted moments, Found tries to imagine the…
