The emptiness of lost memories. Irretrievable images put to music marking milestones in a life still being lived. I'm not a lady who needs much or holds too much sacred, but mix CDs are my dubloons. A golden currency that I pull out when I'm feeling happy, sad, or stagnant. 1,2,8,9,10! Ah! I'm rich. Only, now I'm monetarily poor and mix CD poor.
Who could steal someone's history like that? I hate dwelling on negative things, but my heart's so sore I can't stop thinking about the hobo or punk kids that have various pieces of my life in their possession. Take my car, my stereo, my pneumatic jack, anything but my mixes! Have they already been discarded as valueless trash? I dreamt about going on an expedition through the neighborhood's dumpsters and alleys to retrieve my treasure.
Instead, today, I start a mental expedition retrieving the most sacred of the stolen from the sentimental stores of my self. It's all I can do to stop from fretting. The capacity to remember is what I love about my mixes. Now, I set out to rebuild my fortune, if only in written form, and stop feeling so damn sentimental. In addition, from here on out, I promise to back up anymore mixes I receive (which I hope is many).