I don't know when I first thought I'd lost mine: June maybe, July? Either 2012 or 2013. Perhaps a century or so earlier...
... and I was in a hard, sun-shot London kitchen yesterday with someone who was enduring the worst pain imaginable. And in the middle of the monstrous, hateful fucking grip of his agony, he said something so funny, so spot on, so absolutely right, we both laughed. And my mojo came back. And I remembered this was the second person in a week to do that for me. And that the other person had been 5,451 miles away. And then I realised we don't either have or not have our mojo, that it's something that springs to electric life in the sudden closing of the gaps between two people. And it makes those two people more than they were before, however briefly. And I realised it's why we live and why we keep on living.