I lose my words. I do so in a very literal sense. A journal, nearly full, has decided to leave my side. Disappeared somewhere between the relative safety of my truck seat and the chaotic rest of my life. It was a simple thing of paper and ink, but the ink formed a picture of the man in the mirror. The man is still there, but I wonder now; how he came to exist from the man he was before. How will I look back and learn from those experiences which I will inevitably forget?
Not all was lost. About half of it had been transcribed and stored for safekeeping in the cloud of the internet. I check the date on the last entry I typed, and see words of the changing year and snowfall. Six months of recorded thoughts and tumultuous emotion, which I won’t be able to read through in the years to come. It is not a big deal, I tell myself. They were just words, and there will be plenty more of them in the future.