The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practise losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them but it wasn't a disaster.
Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I loved) I shadn't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master thought it may look like (Write it!) disaster.
- from the poem "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop
You with your inimitable laugh, your confusing accent that people could never quite place, your uncertain fashion sense (remember the wardrobe exorcism I performed while seated on your couch?), your hunched-shoulders dance.
Yes, I may have lost you. But I also lost my fear of trying new things, of confronting my irrational phobias, of talking to strangers. I lost my dread of all things domestic, although admittedly you did most of the cleaning and cooking. I lost the inertia to sit back and wait for things to fall on my lap, choosing to fight for what I believe in, even if I don't always win. I've lost my inhibition to love with all my heart and soul, knowing there is no certainty in love. Most importantly, I lost the regret of what if we had just stayed friends and not given this a try, lost the "if only"s that so many people are content to live with.
And yes, I may have lost you and what could have been, but I haven't really lost you, of what you were to me and what we stood for.