the things that made us
When you Google "how to heal a heartbreak", it tells you to detach from all reminders of the person once loved: clothes, photographs, letters, everything. Erase and delete, and no matter what, do not dwell. I put everything in a box, but I did dwell. The psychological intent was the exact opposite of detachment. All of the things- his wrist bands and jerseys- insisted that something had been. Had been, as a verb tense, is past-perfect-progressive, meaning what has once been can’t just disappear.
“Indeed, every time I conjure a memory from our time together, I weave words all over it. I end up reconstructing the past, justifying it. But these things, they don’t just add method to my artifact-ion, they grant it integrity. I can distort a memory; but my microwave oven and toaster will always sit there like exhibits of functional things for presents."
This is continued further on our blog, since newsletters are too short to hold all of the feelings.
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They lay conjured on the ground- blue and yellow envelopes, restaurant receipts with ink lightening into paper, and dusty polaroids. They lie patiently, like they were made for a vision, a ballad. My bedroom floor became a museum for the decade we made, and the things that made us.
