I pick up a book of poems. I read the

line “I am lost to the world” as “I have

become lost to the world,” which, I believe, is less

self-pitying, less melodramatic, and more resigned, more confused. I have

become lost to the world / In which I otherwise wasted

so much time. The poem is about the life of

an artist, which I am not. But I understand, primally

almost, the concept of losing, of loosing oneself from the

world, of disappearing into a different place, one of retreat

and safety, of the twinned yearnings of escape and discovery.

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Paraphrases from the novel A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara.

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