I am a hoarder. A hoarder of all things related to the past.
Pictures. Notes. Letters. Ticket stubs.
Name it and I hang on to it. Anything that smells of the relationships past.. the fallen soldiers of my war on love. I still have shit from my first few relationships…in high school.
This addiction runs deep.
Case and point— my most recent break up left me with very little. It was a fucked up sort of relationship. We rarely took pictures since he had a girlfriend, and our union was a secret.
We rarely went on dates, but the few movies we saw together—I still have those stubs.
He has a few hand written notes from me, as do I have a few from him.
The most cherished thing I own from our relationship, other than dreams and nightmares, is a t-shirt.
It is ratty and old. It definitely has seen better days. The hole on the left arm doesn’t have a story that I know… but I know it is there. It was a shirt that I saw him in, countless times. He had owned it for years even before we met. He may have taken it off to wash it, and possibly give his look a bit of variety—but it was back on his skinny, artistic frame in a matter of days.
He was wearing this shirt for countless arguments. I can trace back a few of my favorite cuddle nights with him donned in the soft, worn material.
I ripped this shirt off in our passionate moments… It has sentimental value. Legit.
The memory of when he gave it to me is something I will always cherish. It was tough to see him part with it, but I ended up with it.
I have worn it to bed for weeks… and today, it is no where to be found.
I tore apart my closet and all of my drawers, in a frantic search, and I can not locate it.
I am devastated. I actually cried a few baby bitch tears over the loss. A few is an understatement, I think I am just too ashamed to admit that I cried a bucket full of tears.
What a bitch I am.
Why do I hold on to these things of the past?
I smile at the thought of the good times that they represent, but it is a smile filled with sadness. For every good time I can remember, I have three horrible memories to accompany it. So, why oh why do I care so much that it has disappeared?
The only answer I can come up with, is that I am not ready to let go. I have done everything else I was suppose to.
I deleted him from my phone.
I deleted every connection on every social network.
I deleted him from my life.
I have not deleted him from the moments at night when everything is calm and still. Those moments when my mind wanders to things of the past, present and future. I lay in my bed and reflect… he is still on me.
This post is sap-tastic. It is stupid… I know. But, in this moment, in the here and now. I am epically sad, and wish I could find it.
Maybe, this will be good for me. Maybe it is a sign.
I just wasn’t ready for it. But, life doesn’t care if you are ready or not right?