Everywhere I go, I seem to leave bits of me behind.
The city is strewn with lost umbrellas, a great proportion of which are probably mine.
My wardrobe is still black cardigan-less.
Every single pashmina I own, has left and returned to my possession at least once. It's uncanny; my scarves really are like carrier pigeons, leaving my neck cold for a few days before showing up, hanging on a hook in my form room, draped on the radiator in a random classroom, once I found a pashmina atop a hedge on the way to school.
Sadly I am not so lucky with essential study supplies, in the past month having lost my pencil case, this weekend being unable to find my Maths textbook and today realising that I have left an important folder behind at some point today.
It's somewhat dangerous, then perhaps, that I am currently in possession of three sets of tickets; one in the book I am reading, one in the other book I stopped reading, and oh shit I just realised I have no idea where the third ticket is.