I feel like an anthropologist right now flicking away at the saved videos, pictures and screen shots of a beautiful moment in my life. Much like the dinosaurs, that world was buried deep by a tragic destiny. What lay beneath the dirt now are fossils of an idea that was never meant to last. So, as if I were equipped with a brush and scraper, I dust off the fossils that I buried for one last glance. You see, my own cell phone had become a bit counter productive for my post-her life. Through being somewhat of a hardcore documenter, I have shot myself in the foot. Clips of us together, along with beautiful text message conversations have truly feed to that tiny bit of hope that we would one day reunite. Yeah I admit it. Although 97.25% of me knows that I’m yesterday’s news to her, that remaining percentage still hopes that something can happen. I’m not full of myself nor am I failing to move on with my life but lets be honest, don’t we all have some hope in these cases? It’s like those people that dream of their favorite fairy tale coming true. Unlikely as they may be, it’s still fun to dream of once in a while you know?
So why the anthropology? Well, like I said, my cell phone has become a bit of a drag on my new life so I decided to savior the moments one last time before deleting them. In all honesty, I find it a real shame to be deleting them like this. I mean, that’s moments that can never be created again, not with anyone. But it’s time. The memories of how poorly she treated me in the dying days of our relationship also helped fuel my delete commanding finger. “She’s not coming back anyways. These moments you saved aren’t gonna do anything for you!” And why would they? “Plus, when you were with her, you had no creativity! You couldn’t write worth shit!” It was true. I was in a slump. I was too happy to be looking for words. And then I stumbled on this; a text conversation between us.
Her, “haha I want to go rent that game!!! What are you writing about?...or am I not allowed to ask that? Lol”
Me, “Lol you are allowed to ask me anything. I’m writing about going to the hardware store. I should be writing about your sexy butt.”
Her, “new blog? Or just for your journal?? …what would you write about my butt?? Haha”
Me, “A blog ☺ I would write “I inhale the fresh air of spring that is her skin’s scent, abandoned by her perfume, now expired; a surface as smooth as the earth eroded by years and years of flowing water. How else to tell her but with a kiss on those full soft lips, cold and refreshing from the glass of water she just drank that made me a little jealous. I reach around her lower back, a curve that fits my embrace like she was made for me. I reach lower and firmly grab what belongs on a baker’s pan…hot buns.”
Until this text I just recited, I use to think of these saved texts, video footage and pictures as poor attempts at keeping a piece of something that wasn’t mine to keep anymore. And by doing so, hurting my very being. I looked back and thought, “poor bastard. Thought that these pictures, videos and texts would be specimens that he could show his children one day and say, 'Kids, these are memories of your mother and I. See how cute we were? I hope you find your soul mate the way that I did.'”
But I read and I watch and I smile. I wasn’t stupid or naïve for documenting. Obviously they won’t be for my kids to look at, but right now, they serve a bigger purpose. They are here to remind me one last time that with her, I was happy and that I was still writing, even though they came in the form of poems, one with a racist theme (which isn’t as bad as it seems. Actually, I still think it was cute as hell) among many others. I know now that I love who I was when I was with her and have no regrets about any of it.
So this thanksgiving day, I’m thankful for everything that she was to me. And I hope that you find a way to make sense of everything in your life. Even the tragic times! Take care!
Delete.
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:)That was nice!
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