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This is a story of what it means to be lost and what it means to lose.

I'm not talking lost like a virginity or lost like a Cup Final, or lost like a tourist.

This is when you're lost like a glove.

And as you go through the museum you'll see some of the gloves that still have that feeling.

(OK, this happened all about a year ago now. In between there has been a whole new girl, there has been September 11th, there have been days when I've thought about HER every minute and days when I've forgotten I ever even knew her. What I did at the time was to make notes about the gloves and my feelings for Kitty*. What I'm doing now is filling in the gaps and trying to make sense of both these things.)

If you had to remember every glove you've ever owned, at least in your adult life you'd probably give it a good shot, wouldn't you. Well, you'd remember the pairs probably. You'd remember when you got them, what sort of things you'd been at when you wore them. How long they lasted, and what it felt like when they were no longer part of your life. This is what this little museum is about then. Gloves and what they mean. It's all kind of a metaphor; you'll work it out.

I heard someone say once that you can't spell glove without spelling love. This is very true. Neither can you spell smitten without spelling mitten.

When I first met Kitty that was what I was. Totally smitten. She was so funny and generous. She had a whole set of phrases she used to describe things and people. She had a laugh that sounded like a classroom on the last day of term. Not the kids, the classroom. She was awesome.
And when you're smitten you don't ever think you'll stop being smitten. You expect smit to be your constant state forever. You expect that person to be part of your forever. Forever never lasts though.

*Names have been changed to protect me.