I lose my keys because I am absent-minded and I sometimes wonder whether I have lost other pieces of myself here and there, tucked inside my books, dropped stupidly at a street corner, left behind in some former house. Days go by and it feels as if there is something i need to remember, that this day has its own undusted place and has been re-ordered, remixed, lost in the shuffle and chaos of my past. These pieces of me are gone, likely forever. In these small moments, the past lingers like a dull echo, a faded photograph that has lost its color and brilliance.