He will come back

I have this scarf. Made from the most amazing blue and white stripped fabric. My grandmother had made it for my mother, it came as an accessory with a wonderful dress. When I wear it, I feel beautiful.

Walking underground I lost it. I had been sitting down for 5 minutes, reading, about to get on a train when I realized. I left the platform and retraced my journey, i was going to find it, i told myself. I walked the long walk from the DLR to Central Line. I asked all the staff if they had seen it. I felt lost and sick. How could I have been so blasé. Uncaring, butter fingers. Am I to lose everything. I walked as far as I can. And stopped, for a second, looking all around, everyone ignored my panicked face.

On the verge of tears I walked back through the barriers and down the escalators. I told myself, to let go. The scarf made difference to anything. I shouldn’t behave like that. Even though it was something special.

A thought traveled through me, like a train. And it disappeared again, into the dark tunnel. Things are never lost. The ones that come back are the ones I’m supposed to have. And walking back to the platform, caught in the wind against pillar lay the scarf.

I tied a knot in it.