Losing Something

When you look for something and the shortness of breath begins to set in while, you curse God for placing such an inconvenience on you, a daunting task that which you did not even ask for; and those eyes, the pair owned by the Wicked Witch of the West, as she swoops in before Dorothy this time, regaining what was hers, but we all know who was meant to have it. You aren't on the side of meant because its apparent that she didn't get there before and you didn't hold onto it in the rush of things. Still, the distilling sentiments, either get released in a staccato supernova, bursting of the top, infuriation welding the doors of your reality into dribble. These things are never fun.