Misplaced

Things misplaced don’t disappear
But where they go just isn’t clear.
Likely they’re not really lost;
To search, though, comes at quite a cost.

I’m inclined to self-accuse,
Questioning if things I lose
Are hiding out, which some will find
As evidence I’ve lost my mind.

In the end, though, life goes on
Though my earrings might be gone,
Their whereabouts a mystery
And like my brain cells, history.