THE BALLAD OF THE LOST GLOVES
Today marks the debut of a new blog event, a storytelling devoted to seasons and the objects defining them. During winter we protect our hands with gloves we often lose on our way. Is it simple distraction, or maybe is it something else?
Glove #1
The air stings, just like the beard I forgot to trim this morning, too. You remind me to do it every day. Even today, you fixed the shaver on number 1, the best length for my face’s shape. I know it’s your favorite shape, actually, but I do pretend you do it in an unselfish way.
The air stings, the weather is cold. I cannot feel my right hand’s fingertip. I had a glove in my pocket, a green, and purple one with a lime-colored detail. A punk concert poster, honestly. I can’t find it anymore, I’ve lost it. I got it yesterday, but not today. My mind is focusing on the geography of my daily walking towards the office: the house’s stairway, the sidewalk that leads me to the bakery store, the bus on which people can’t stay away from me as I’d love to.
It was the right-hand glove, I had it in my pocket. Perhaps it happened right on the damn bus, when I took the phone to send you a further ‘morning’. A series of emojis, as a DNA sequence that only the two of us can interpret. I was fond of that glove. While I’m wearing the left one – the survivor – I remember you looking at them with disappointment. Too many colors, daring matches: you never speak frankly to me about it, but you’d prefer me to wear more discreet tones. Black, icy gray, smoke gray: sometimes, when I sit at my desk, I turn my eyes away from the PC, and observing the winter landscape behind the window glass I spot the sadness you wish I was similar to.
It’s ten to nine AM, the office door is looking at me, asking me to walk in. To be in a hurry is something negative for those who lose something on their way. I take one final look around, even if I know it’s not the place where I lost my FILA glove. I put my hand inside the pocket, I needed to feel the sensibility of my fingerprints again. I take my phone and send you a final emoji on WhatsApp – you know I never forget it. I enter the door step by step: the more I walk, the more I start to feel my hand again. It feels cold around me, I can see no colored spots in the snow.
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