Gone. Just like that. My life rediscovered: gone. My therapy, my footprints. My voice. My voice that had been so quiet, so meek, so unsure. My voice that had learned strength and conviction and prowess. All gone. The plain brown notebook that held everything. And the blue folder with the Bulldog mascot on it that held the notebook and the voices of the others that made my own insecure voice so confident. And so here is the lament for the missing folder, the missing writings, the missing voice. Such a small insignificant thing to be pained over. But so large after all.