Lost is Found: notes from the underbrush

Shhh! Please don’t say anything. Don’t even look. Pretend you’re watching that family haggle with the waiter over their check. Yeah, that’s better.

You seem like someone I can trust. I can tell by the way you looked at me…like you understood why I was here. That it wasn’t my idea.

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At first, I was irked at the grubby-fingered troublemaker who shoved me here because he was bored. What a histrionic little jerk, right? Didn’t even do him any good…he practically had to scream his head off to get his parents to drag him outside, and by the time the waiters had cleared up the mess, no one thought to count and see if I was missing.

The longer I’ve been stuck here, the more I get to feeling it isn’t so bad. The thought of going through that scalding bath and then the sanitizer that strips me of what precious metal I have left…only to be handled and smudged again and again… Just remembering my former life makes me want to burrow deeper and wait it out. Maybe they’ll replace these pots soon and I’ll get to go on an adventure! You never know how things might work out.

So if I must be found out, I’m at least glad it was you. I know you won’t tell. You’ll take your photograph, declare me art, and move on to let me live my new life among the rocks and ruined leaf husks. Discarded, forgotten. At last content.


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