Hunting

There was a larger purpose here.

I'm sure of it;
I had kept it most carefully.

You know how it is
With these carefully kept things.

Stashed in trunks
Stored in strange places
Remembered so hard
That it guarantees forgetting.

However,
I know I'd parked it here somewhere.

A larger purpose
With a lilac view
Those rose tinted things
Fighting mildew

I even remember the paper I wrapped it in;
An old newspaper with an inspiring editorial
And the mothballs just in case...

Do purposes evaporate?