Vent: I tried to reblog this and it deleted everything!! Agh!! New WordPress I despise thee!
Okay, enough of that. Writing prompt.
I kept all my secrets there, on scraps of paper. A letter to me, another one, not to me. I kept it to keep the memory alive. There were two of us at one point, no matter what transpired in the future. Also there were handmade books, full of scratched out names and codes and silliness. I threw those away, except the one with imitation autographs. That was just too fun, more art than anything. The letters I kept. They might still be in a locked drawer, but not the one in the desk anymore.
The funny thing about holding-on is that it is not-letting-go.
“There were two of us at one point.” I don’t know why I wrote that. Well, I do, but I don’t know why I wrote it like that.
She didn’t die. But our relationship did. I think we were “one” at one point–one family unit–and I think those two letters were in that one point.
And his relationship to us was already dead.
I don’t know why I used a relic of a dead relationship to hold on to one that was also destined to die.
Just pieces of my broken family.
And I wonder why I have abandonment issues.
Someday we’ll be whole again.
I have alive relationships still.
But sometimes the cloud of dead ones still hangs over me.