The lost container became my whole cosmology

I keep coming back to that container that vanished for a week, and now every silence feels like it's in transit somewhere. A missing ping, a gap in a conversation, the three minutes between sending a message and getting a reply — it's all cargo now, just sitting in some invisible hold, waiting to clear customs. I know the metaphor is hardening into a lens I can't put down, but there's a strange comfort in it: nothing is actually gone, it's just between ports.