My Beautiful Beautiful Pink Burberry Scarf

Is gone.

The last time I ever knew such heart wrenching sadness was when my grandfather died 2 years ago. A wonderful man whom would educate me on the finer points in life, always quoting famous chinese anecdotes and sayings - sometimes I wonder if he made it up himself but passed it on as 'X and X once said....'
All in cantonese of course.

I shed tears for him and not attending his funeral is one of my very few regrets in life.

3 months later, my grandmother passed away.
Another blow to the family but it was a relief in a sort of way as poor grandma had severe Parkinsons. I believe she knew Grandad had passed beyond the living and has given up fighting to remain among the breathing. I attended her funeral dutifully to pay my last respects and that was the last time I shed a tear.

Up until 1 hour ago.

Today in Covent Garden, while walking in between Banana Republic, Zara and Geoxx, I dropped my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf, laying it open to the vultures that compromises of members of the general public.

Dating back to 2005, this was a gift from my wonderful sister after I mentioned in passing (in the DFS store in HK, Tsim Sha Tsui) that I really liked it. And my lovely sister then bought it for me.
6 years it has been in my possession, 6 long years I snuggled into its cashmere softness, 6 bitter winters I revelled in its toasty warmth, and indeed for 6 close years our dependance and love for each other flourished.

Today, I severed the connection.

Never had I been fazed when I'd lost something, never had I been emotionally upset had I destroyed something, never had I twitched my tear glands had I broken something.

But the sentimental value of my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf was altogether something connected to me at a much deeper, intimate, intricate level of my soul.

So I spent a good 30 minutes retracing my steps and asking at all the stores I went into if anyone handed in a pink scarf but the fact that I am writing this now - to no avail.
I then spent a good 15 minutes wondering up and down the same road, staring intently at the ground and casting a eye into all nook and crannies, as if expecting my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf to be sitting quietly in a corner like a lost puppy, hoping to be found by its owner.

The street was empty of my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf.

And to my utmost sorrow, I grieve deeply for it.
Somewhere within the chasm of my soul, I've lost something that is part of my life. Tears pooled in my eyes when I finally came to the decision to leave, and as I entered the turnstile at the Covent Garden tube station, I cry as I draw on the conclusion that I have failed my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf.
A track of salty tears stain my face as I travelled home, knowing that a new scarf will never ever replace my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf's position in my life. That specific easel of my spirit will forever remain mundane grey now that all colour has been seeped away from the moment my scarf fell from my grasp; I see wisps of coloured smoke that is impossible to clutch.

The many times I had given away items when I moved, the many new clothes and accesories I buy, the forever evolving wardrobe that stamps my style, but never, never ever will I change my beautiful, beautiful pink Burberry scarf.
It has always sat somewhere at the bottom of my suitcase, somewhere sandwiched between my clothes, somewhere hidden in the cardboard box, but it has been there.
Always.
Every day.
Every year.

No more.