Monday, April 6, 2009


I kept almost nothing of you around. It made me sick to see those things. I bought a hard drive and moved every picture and video and hid them away in the bottom of a box. I took the painting you painted for me and wrapped it in tissue, you wanted me to have those painted flowers forever, and now, never again. I took the book, the cd and the shirt I ordered because I wanted to always feel like I was supporting you, even when my money didn't matter, and put them in the bottom of that box also. I left every card, every flower, every picture frame, ever ticket stub from every movie we ever saw, I left the ticket stub from our first date, I left the ticket stub from our last date hours before I left you and the time you pulled me closer and told me Billy Joel was singing "she's got a way" just for me. I left everything you ever gave me. I only took the very first love letter you ever wrote me, the one where you promised to never hurt me, where you told me how lucky you felt to be loved by me, and in it promised me the world.

I moved this week and I found that box. I was wondering how it would feel to see those things again. It felt terrible.