The Incredible Lightness of Purpose

I see kids play in the rain, and they remind me of when, I too, rejoiced in wet play. Do they know, one day, they'll have to earn to eat? When I was about three, my first memory, concerned my whole being immersed in sunlight, I was imagining the creases and folds of the powdered cement mountain as roads silkily winding down or up it and I must have had a toy car or one of those green plastic soldiers on surf boards for I was making car noises and winding movements down or up the grey, granule mount. I must have decided to terrorize it at some point for I recall traversing its upper surfaces, cutting nastily the ribbons of silky roads, when I found I had lost a slipper. Naturally, play was postponed, and work commenced. The search for the slipper daunted me. It was like, it slipped beyond this reality to another dimension. I could not find it, and the mount was nearly a plain by now. I talked to myself then. Should I continue, seems fruitless, and deep down I knew it was gone forever, and too, the sun was mercilessly on my back, riding me directly, and I felt I should quit. Quit. What's a flip-flop? But I did not. I with my pride relentlessly and I mean relentlessly persisted. The sun's rays by waves trashed on me, producing foam-sweat, and my shirt felt like it absorbed the Atlantic Ocean within its threads it was so heavy. And I remember saying to the effect that shit, shit, it has to be here it has to be here it can't not be here that just doesn't happen it does not happen it is here where else would it be? And with some vanity I thought I'll find it I'll find it and then it will be glorious 'cause I'd have won, finding it, finding it. I never found the damn missing piece. And it was just there. Then after some moments messing around, pfff. Gone.

Like childhood. Inexplicably.