There are things we often lose without even noticing. I'm not referring to keys, phones, or wallets; those are easy to spot. I'm talking about feelings and parts of yourself that silently disappear, without any sound. Like the self-assurance you had when entering a room. The excitement you felt when a particular song played. The childlike innocence that faded due to sorrow and growing up. Somewhere, there is someone gathering these lost pieces. He is known as the Merchant of Lost Things.
He isn’t flashy. You won’t see him on street corners, eagerly promoting what he offers. Instead, he waits in those quiet moments of your day when you sense something is amiss but can’t identify exactly what that is. You might dream of him or linger by a window, contemplating the shadow you see.
His shop? It isn’t a traditional store. It could be a peaceful moment at dusk or a nostalgic memory that surprises you. That’s when he shows up, with an unusual, understanding expression in his eyes. He also opens a small box that resembles a treasure chest filled with forgotten keepsakes. The exchange isn’t simple. Yet, it is always just.
And when you leave, you feel it—not just the recovery of what was missing, but also the quiet strength of choosing to embrace it again.
The Merchant of Lost Things doesn’t make guarantees. He merely offers pieces of who you are, patiently waiting for you to realize that they still belong to you.