The Lost & Found for Lost Things

Next. Name? Date of loss? And can you describe what you lost? Down beneath the downtown station, Past a door without a name, There’s a desk for missing persons And the things they couldn’t claim. Lost umbrellas, lost directions, Lost connections, lost goodbyes, Lost intentions in a shoebox, Lost excuses, alibis. There were bottles full of lost sleep, There were boxes marked LOST TIME, Someone’s long-lost sense of humor Sat beside a missing rhyme. I took a ticket. Waited there. Number eighty-nine. The woman at the window said, “Now, what did you misplace?” I said, “Someone.” She said, “Someone isn’t something we can trace.” At the Lost & Found for Lost Things, They keep everything we leave Lost loves, lost causes, Lost chances up their sleeves. Lost touch, lost track, Lost faith that might come back. I said, “I know just what I’m missing. I came to find my love.” She slid the form across the desk: “That’s not what you lost.” A man reclaimed his innocence He’d left there at sixteen. A woman found her train of thought Behind a vending machine. A child picked up a wonder That his father called naïve. Someone claimed a lost religion. Someone else returned belief. There were last straws by the thousands, Broken hearts in evidence, Peace of mind in padded parcels, Common sense behind the fence. I searched through every shelf of things That people leave behind, But nowhere in that warehouse Could I find what I called mine. The woman at the window said, “Describe them, if you can.” I gave your eyes, your laugh, your voice She never moved her hand. She said, “I didn’t ask who left you. I asked what you lost.” At the Lost & Found for Lost Things, They keep everything we leave Lost loves, lost causes, Lost chances up their sleeves. Lost touch, lost track, Lost faith that might come back. I said, “I know just what I’m missing. I came to find my love.” She turned another page and said: “That’s not what you lost.” She led me past the lost years, Past the words we never said, Past a thousand second chances No one bothered to collect. Past abandoned expectations, Past the benefit of doubt, Past the people who got lost While trying hard to find a way out. Then she stopped beside a small box. No number. No return. Just my name in my own handwriting, From before I knew yours. “Can you describe what you lost?” I lost sleep trying to save us. Lost time trying to stay. Lost touch with all my old friends. Lost count of what I gave away. Lost heart. Lost hope. Lost my nerve. Lost sight of what I deserved. Lost track of where you ended And where I began. I lost my voice keeping quiet. Lost my way following you. And somewhere between “I love you” and “What do you want me to do?” I lost me. “There you are.” At the Lost & Found for Lost Things, They keep what we forget to grieve Lost years, lost pieces, Lost parts we didn’t mean to leave. Lost touch comes back. Lost roads still make new maps. I thought I came here looking For the love that I had lost. But some things leave so you can find what loving them had cost. I opened up the little box. No photograph. No key. No letter from the person I had begged the world to bring me. Just a mirror and a note in handwriting I knew: “If found, please return to you.” The woman stamped my claim form. FOUND. © Aurorian Silver Moon 2026. All rights reserved. This is an original composition owned by Aurorian Silver Moon. For licensing, sync, or usage inquiries: AurorianSilverMoon@gmail.com