18.05.06 |

I first looked under my bed, in the corner of my wardrobe, beneath the hastily folded shirts and piles of paper on my desk, in the drawer always kept closed, in the paper recycle box and dirty clothes bin; with urgency. I especially looked on the ribboned week of my datebook and then thought to look to see if it was holding place in the book I’ve yet to finish reading. Because I missed her, I called all of the old friends who also new her, back before she changed her name. I sent postcards to her old address, to what little I could remember of it. I prayed requests sometimes, and then retracted them immediately. In crowds, I scanned the faces. After big events, I walked through the rubbish left behind, looking, shifting the remnants with the toe of my shoe. Sometimes i just called out, it sounded normal enough, it could be the name of a daughter or a pet. “Joy,” I always started timidly, “joy, where are you, I’ve been looking for you.” And always the same familiar pause, waiting for an answer.

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