I spent most of the day boxing up books and other such personal belongings. It didn’t make me feel sad, just a tad lost. The end of this relationship has been coming for months. It’s been bunk for such a long time that to walk away from it brought nothing but relief. But still. The end of love always leaves a scar, and the more you believed it was true, the deeper the wound. So yeah, I spent several hours sifting through my shit in a house that was once meant to house a healthy relationship. It did, briefly, but now all I have to show for it are boxes of belongings piled indifferently in the corner of a room that will soon forget me. I don’t think about that, though. My thoughts reside in happier times. Strange how such memories still reverberate through my brain as if I experienced them not several years ago but only yesterday. I threw a good deal of books away. I’ll never read them. There’s something genuinely agonizing about owning a book you know you’ll never read. It gnaws at my bones like a hangover, and the sight of those books ready to be recycled filled me with a deep sense of shame. When I finished boxing up, I sifted through some old photos. The sight of my younger self smiling a genuine, childish smile caused me to cry, and I couldn’t help but curl up on the floor devoid of the energy or willpower to do anything else. The dogs surrounded me—licking me—thinking I was playing. I imagined what it would be like if I suffered a heart attack and they chewed my face off. Like that French woman.
X and I: A Novel and A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon UK
X and I: A Novel and A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon US
It’s never easy, detaching ourselves, psychologically, and mentally, from a love we felt toward that certain someone, especially, living in a place, where we’ d, made, so many, memories, with that other, individual, but we still put, one foot, in front of the, other, and, keep, moving…
Absolutely. All we can do is keep walking. It gets us nowhere just dwelling, and there’s certainly no medicine for regret.
Those damned unread books, very haunting, especially those received as gifts 🥶
Yes. The sight of them just sitting there, doing nothing, was always troubling for me 😦