0:00 The cold came first.0:02 A sudden, sharp shock after the warmth of a hand.0:07 Last week, a chair spoke of the quiet, steady pressure of its purpose; for me, the first sensation of being lost was the LACK of pressure, the sudden weightlessness of falling through the air.0:27 Then, the hard clap against concrete.0:31 The sound was small, but to me, it was everything.0:36 I was born for a single lock, a single hand.0:41 My teeth knew their tumblers, my head knew the curve of a specific thumb.0:48 For three years, that was my world.0:52 A turn in the morning, a turn at night.0:56 The satisfying click that meant home, that meant safety.1:02 It was a simple life, a good life.1:06 A life of purpose.1:08 Until it wasn't.1:09 The hand that held me was rushed, juggling bags from the market.1:16 There was a fumble, a frantic grab for a rolling orange… and I was gone.1:24 I saw the shoe pass over me, once, twice.1:28 Heard the sigh of frustration.1:31 Then, the footsteps receded, and I was left with the sky and the sounds of the street.1:40 At first, I waited for return.1:43 Every shadow that fell across me could have been hers.1:49 Every approaching step made the metal in me hum with anticipation.1:56 But the days turned, the sun warmed me, the rain cooled me.2:02 I learned the rhythm of the sidewalk.2:06 The heavy tread of work boots in the morning.2:11 The light, scuffing steps of children after school.2:16 The slow, careful shuffle of the elderly.2:20 I was stepped on, kicked, nudged into a crack where water pooled.2:27 I watched the world from a new, low angle.2:32 I saw lost buttons, discarded tickets, the intricate patterns of chewing gum pressed into the stone.2:42 I saw her face, once more, on a poster stapled to a telephone pole.2:49 A missing cat.2:51 She was looking for something else now.2:55 I had been forgotten.2:57 The brass of my body began to dull, a patina of neglect creeping over my shine.3:05 I was no longer a key.3:08 I was just… a piece of metal on the ground.3:12 An obstacle for an ant.3:15 A curiosity for NO ONE.3:17 Then, a different kind of touch.3:20 Not the searching fingers of my owner, but the small, curious toe of a child's sneaker.3:30 A gentle prod.3:31 Then another.3:32 Small hands, smudged with dirt and something sticky, picked me up.3:39 I was lifted to the light, turned over and over.3:44 There was no recognition of my purpose.3:49 No thought of the lock I fit.3:52 I was simply… a treasure.3:54 I was slipped into a pocket that already held a smooth grey stone and a bottle cap.4:03 My new home was a small wooden box filled with other found wonders.4:10 A bird's feather.4:12 A shard of blue sea glass.4:15 A coin from a country I did not know.4:18 I am not used anymore.4:21 The lock I was made for is a distant memory, another life.4:27 But I am held.4:28 I am looked at.4:30 The child sometimes takes me out, tracing the pattern of my teeth with a small finger, whispering stories about the door I might open.4:44 And in a way, he is not wrong.4:47 I no longer open a door to a house.4:51 I open a door to a story.4:54 And I wait, quietly, for the next time the box is opened.
