Asking, "where's my mind?" wears my mind, you see? fallacy's alive and I permit it. Idly rightfully, stand I, abiding Its suppressive whim I cannot forfeit.
Shall I ponder what scurries so discreet? Maybe rather it exists to roam Rome. If I squander, it wonders Italy. And I, in Portland, await it, alone.
Upon this reluctant reuniting its lost sense of home, anxious though welcomed. My mind lost itself, separated me. I am without it again, so I sit.
I snicker, shamed and amused by my claim: "My mind?" it lacks the restraint necessary to belong in such a way.