I could have sworn that sixteen years ago I wrote a short verse in honour of the leap day, February 29th.
I was going to type it up this year and add it to my electronic files, as back then I was not yet working with the aid of a computer. I could not find that poem anywhere--even though I possess every draft of every piece I have ever written. So, the verse, I feared at first, was lost.
But then, digging through my papers, I finally found a journal entry from that day of that year. Its words rang eerily similar to the verse I thought I had written--or thought I remembered writing.
I can only conclude that the journal entry, itself, is what I thought I wrote--that it had transformed, in my mind, into a proper composition I never properly composed.
So, today, using that old journal entry, I plan to (re)write the verse I thought I wrote all those years ago.
The weird part is that this strange experience of "losing and finding" was, and is, the verse's very essence.
Perhaps I'll post the finished poem in four years or so.
