I'm pretty sensitive.
I think this is well known by many. But I'm going to put it out there just in case.
So, being sensitive. It comes with a lot to deal with. You know, a lot. There's the whole "I'm trying to figure out what it all means!" feeling and then there's the whole "Am I overreacting to what just happened or is he or she an asshole and I'm totally at right to react the way I am reacting?" feeling. And then there is the whole " Let's be all melo-dramatic Grey's Anatomy-like" thing. You know, this involves music and metaphors and pauses and all that fun stuff.
But, it's sort of part our jobs to figure out this stuff going on all around us. If we all just sat around watching T.V. and eating ice cream in one sittings we wouldn't know that there was gravity and we wouldn't know that we could go in to outer space and we wouldn't know that you could totally spell "boobless" on your calculator if you turn it upside down(AWESOME since fifth grade!).
And some of us are just a little more sensitive when it comes to figuring this stuff out. Especially when it comes to relationships.
I keep everything. Not in a creepy " I can't get rid of that tin can because we made our last dinner together with that tin can" kind of way. But I like ticket stubs and I like Polaroids and I like receipts and bowling score sheets and photobooth strips and playbooks. These things are what us sensitive people use to go back to. We use it to remind us that something existed. We use it to sigh and laugh at and to get mad at and then get frustrated at and then get heated at and then... and then...
we shove it all back in to a box and hide it under the bed next to the stuff you wouldn't want your mom to find.
And I thought this was normal. I thought this is what everyone does. And then I found this:
And for a second I stared at it. I stared it like how you stare through a store front window at something you didn't know you wanted until you saw it right there at that moment in the window.
These bags... these bags... make sense:
Because having boxes of things from the past sometimes isn't the right way to approach where you are trying to go in to the future. All the reminders of things that were right that went wrong... eh, there's a better way to use space.
Sure, we should totally keep the good stuff. And if the time together ended well, then you should save all the things that mean something to you. But when there are bags like these and there are melo-dramatic ways to approach it... well, sometimes it's fun to see your past go up in flames. Usually, once the smoke clears, it's much easier to assess the damage and start making room for the new.