I’m throwing it all out before we move.
There are letters from guys I never quite forgot and don’t really remember saying how much they loved me, a note from the first time someone proposed to me (I said no), notes that came with the flowers I was sent after having sex for the first time (one says “Thanks! I had fun!” which is weird at best, until you get to another one that says “Boo!”. I didn’t always have the best judgement, ok?).
There are pictures taken in my grandmother’s back yard in the middle of the night, letters I wrote and never sent, letters I wish I was never sent, pictures of me smiling with friends I don’t have anymore, and an invitation from Mr. and Mrs. Huff inviting me to their daughter’s wedding. (Ok, I kept that one). I have all of the obligatory bad poetry I slammed out after breakups, including when I lost Rob the first few times; I thought about keeping those, but really, we can just move forward now. Molly, his ex-girlfriend who was wrapped up in the whole thing before, wisely said that everything works out for a reason; she’s happily shacked up with one of Rob’s best friends who I’m pretty sure she would have never met if she hadn’t dated Rob in the first place, so, in the end, we were all ok, in fact, we might have lunch with them soon.
We might not.
I even threw out my positive pregnancy test, because that’s over too (and, um, it’s gross to keep things you’ve peed on). It’s all in a bag in the dumpster and I can’t get it and I feel ______.
I have no idea. But it’s big. But then, maybe I’m making a mountain out of a molehil. It’s just papers and pictures, right? Right.