I knew better. But I did it anyway.

I went through the messy hall closet tonight, even though Jason is away and all my friends are busy or gone.

Pretty soon the night involved less cleaning, more nostalgia. Eventually I was curled up on the floor in a puddle of old things, old mementos, an old life.

Mix tapes. Photos of friends before our relationships shattered. My favorite shirt for clubbing. A toothbrush with a photo of a man on the handle -- turn it upside-down and his shorts disappear. Sad journals. Clippings from magazines that once meant something to me. Promise rings. Strips from the photo booth, featuring a revolving door of men. A feather boa. A card written by my mom, back when she was sane. Half-burnt candles.

And this tattered letter from a boy, long before he broke my heart:

I was alone for the longest time and then I found her ... Maybe she was just a dream and maybe she wasn't. At this point, it doesn't much matter.

She is beautiful -- tall, perfect body, wonderful skin, and amazingly beautiful; mythically beautiful.

I miss her.

If you find her, tell her she was my only thought. My head loved her heart, and my heart loved all of her.

I want to hold her beside me for a hundred years and love her forever.

That closet is like an altar of everything that could have been; the paths I didn't take, the things I left behind, the choices I made, the pieces that have all fit together to make up this very moment right now.

I packed everything back into the boxes and shut the door.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, December 20, 2006 at 11:00 PM. You can skip to the end and leave a response.