I've found that every time I've gone to a friend's house to visit, I've left something behind. A sweater, a pen, maybe even a book. One time my friend and I made scones from scratch. Honey and date. Light and fluffy and so incredibly fresh, we sat and devoured our creation while speaking over tea. She took the kindness of sitting and writing a recipe card for me, but I forgot it out of my own clumsiness.
The thing is, I never really call to ask for these things back. I often ponder too much. I find myself wondering, after all this time, is the object just an object, or is the object me? For example, when my friend sees my sweater, do they see a cotton cloth, or do they see every time I've left the house with the fabric on my back? That blue pen of mine, is it just a pen, or is it the hundreds of words I've written with it? Maybe one day my friend will find that recipe card again and remember the fun we had evolving flour and egg into something beautiful. Maybe she will taste the tea she drank again. Maybe she'll remember what mug she used. Maybe she'll remember what I said.
That pen - maybe it ran out of ink and it's journey has lead it to the garbage disposal. That sweater- perhaps it got donated to the thrift store. It's on the back of someone who needed it more. Maybe the recipe card is stored away, for God knows how long... I prefer the mystery. Call me crazy, but- I've begun to forget things on purpose.