I own seven pairs—sunglasses mainly— and some unmatched with my face—
although I would like to think otherwise.
I forget them regularly
just as a piece of jewellery,
thinking there will come a time
when I might need them,
a time when I would like to embellish
myself with their scratches—not yet earned—
marks of the world lightly rained on,
fallen, picked up, at times
lost in feverish summer.
Fallen, lost, picked up, scratched - a beautiful way to describe the desperate lives of sunglasses.
What stayed with me is the desire to wear the scratches of the glasses before they have even been earned, as though experience could become a form of adornment.
I especially loved the final movement through rain, falling, being picked up, and getting lost in summer. The glasses begin as objects, but end as quiet witnesses to a life not yet lived.