Lost Half

On Echo Park Boulevard, outside an art gallery, I lost an earring. This was years ago, and that's the thing about jewelry; sometimes it just disappears. There's something about earrings though, or an earring. A mitten, a sock. Losing one half of a pair feels like the worst thing. And even now, years later, when I walk by that gallery, I still look for the glint of my lost earring, in the cracks of the sidewalk around the shrubs, by the doorway, in the planters; this restless hope that all lost things can somehow, at some point, be re-found, reunited, complete.