It took a while but I finally put all those things away. The things that reminded me of him. Of us. I put them in a box and inched it up on a shelf, standing barefooted and on tip-toes, pushing the memories of him and I up out of reach; finally out of sight from every day glances.
I should have thrown them away – those little nothings that I still hold onto – rather than put them somewhere for me to stumble upon on some unsuspecting day. But something about them – something about him – keeps me hostage and I find myself hanging on still.
I can’t seem to let go of what could have been; the proof in that box up in the closet – rather than the dumpster – and I make a promise to myself that I won’t sift through the sadness and buy into the blissfully blind beginnings that are captured in there but instead learn from them. They are tangible pieces of a time that was never real – as though I’d dreamt of the sea only to wake up smelling of the ocean; a mirage so vivid that on some days I still can’t discern whether it ever actually happened or not.
Where pictures of Then were once pinned against the wall, new squared photographs of memories with no bitter aftertastes now stare back at me from behind my computer; symbolic four-by-four inch infomercials promising happier outcomes are possible! But I shrug at them dejectedly. Gorgeous sunsets and significant places, my favorite things in snapshots, and my face falls, defeated. Because it’s not the same. It’s not then. It’s not there. It’s not him. It’s not now.
It’s over.
I have no words. I just had to let you know that I read it.
He wasn’t worthy. I mean, who doesn’t have a smart phone? COME ON.
I can relate to so much of what you write Megan. It’s all a part of the process and if it helps, it does get easier. Not painless, never painless, but easier all the same. I went through exactly what you described in this piece, it’s like you were watching my life, it’s that similar. Moving house twice has enabled me to let go, piece by piece, very slowly and let all those memories go where they belong, not in my today. I <3 heart you for writing this and for walking this road with your head held high, even on days when it wants to hide and cry.
Hugs,
Tricia xx
The more pieces I got rid of, the better I felt. Lighter. The one thing I am stuck with is these stupid mix CDs. They have both great songs and terrible emotions attached. I don’t know how to deal with them.
It’s like you plucked this out of my head. My box has been sitting in the middle of my living room for a year. I can’t even bring myself to touch it. <3
“They are tangible pieces of a time that was never real”
This. *sigh* So.Much.This.
xo
*HUGS*
Ah, the past… beautifully written.
When my boyfriend of 12 years finally realized we were done he dropped off a totebox full of our stuff and our memories on my front porch. It took me almost a year before I could open the box and look thru things without crying about it. I guess its a type of mourning period. It does get easier but there is always something that happens that reminds me of him, or a song I hear or something I do we used to do together. But one thing I did learn was that I learned alot about myself and realized if I hadn’t gone down that road I wouldn’t be the person I am today. You are in my thoughts because I’ve been there done that. One day at a time my dear, one day at a time.
I have all of the wedding photos. I used the frames to hang photos of me and my friends, and kept the photos because almost any memory is one worth keeping.