The Story

Redefining who you are in the absence of another is much like cleaning out an attic.

You find boxes filled with memories that cause you to stop, reminiscence and then put them away.

All the while as I sift through the items I find that I am searching for deeper meaning in everything.

I guess the meaning I used to find in each and every day was so grossly intertwined with you that I’m left with a hollow feeling and an absence of direction.

What is the lesson in all of this pain?

Is it to find that I am stronger than I imagined? Is it for you to conquer your demons? Or is it simply that sometimes hearts get broken in the process of healing.

And as I put away each memory I hear a small voice say wait, not this one, I need this one, until I find I am surrounded by you, not wanting to put any piece of you away.

Each day I enter the attic, and each day I find all I have done is collect the memories and find reasons to not let them go.

But each day I find that there is less time spent in the attic, and more often I find I simply go up there and sit amongst the wreckage of unrequited love seeking the purpose in the madness.

I guess your indecisiveness has been a contributing factor in the swing of my moods, but if I am completely honest, its also influenced by my questioning of what it is I am willing to endure from you. How do you choose between love and self?

As the days go on I find my thoughts are engulfed with seeking my purpose, my meaning, my direction.

And I can now admit that though most of the time you never hindered my own development, at times your mood swings were so consuming that I lost sight of myself.

Much like the way you came into my life, you left. Chaotic, surprising, and incomprehensible.

Still I find it next to impossible to let go of what was, to understand what happened, or to believe that you are gone.

So, I have resolved to write a story starting from the end working my way back to the beginning, the story of us in reverse. A way to trace the lines of our journey.

Since I cannot seem to be able to put this away, I shall make it into something similar to life itself, messy, dirty, loving, joyous, and bittersweet.

And so begins my new direction, a weaver of our story. To what end I wont likely know until it is complete, but I promise it will be monumental.