Lost

I lost an essay sometime in the last few days. I don’t know what happened to it or where it went. Gone. Into the cyber grinder of the hard drive. There is an empty hollow feeling that the loss is forever.
I can’t consider myself a writer. Scribo ergo sum? Maybe. Writing is a process that involves a good deal of the brain. Memory, language, image, syntax, moving from creative centers to speech to writing centers. Lots of activity. The produce, while never truly finished, is like an offspring. Your baby. Your own thoughts. Your private musings. Something very precious to both guard and share, like a baby.
So when I lose something I have written, labored with and over, there is in me a deep sense of loss. Sure, the theme can be addressed again, and a new version of whatever it was can be produced. But the original can never come back, and the new will be a mere shadow of the old.

Time to move on. Not easy.

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