As the cost of Metro Vancouver storage climbs, I’m facing the challenge of ensuring we are storing only what we must. I spent several days – with my mother’s help – going through the last 7 or 8 boxes of “stuff” that has survived the multiple moves from address to address.
Being the nostalgic person I am, I tend to hold on to things that have been imbued with memory for me – especially if those things are small pieces of paper like letters or cards. How much space can it actually take up? It adds up – like a phone book (children, ask your parents what a phone book is). Like a romance movie, there are certain groupings of cards/letters that are tied together with a wrinkled ribbon. Tucked away like I needed reminding of the fabulous woman I am/was – pursued by many, yet only captured by one. But I’ll keep the best of them to remember all-consuming Summer Love, the stab of betrayal, and the fallacy of certainty of the future.
It was in a long unopened package (secured with packing tape) that I found the best treasures – old notes and letters from high school and university from people I can barely remember. Angst, and break-ups, and unremembered friends, and drama. Buried within are old unsent notes that I wrote out my feelings but – in fortunate moves that did not belie my youth – were kept instead of sent. Because if these had been found in someone else’s storage unit, my current self would have just died. (See that throwback language I am using?)
And so I welcome my first guest bloggers – (estimated based on my handwriting and other items with them) my 17- & 20-year-old self in my most tormented, anguished frame of mind. And as we know, betrayal is the writer’s greatest muse, so I present my best works certainly – one in poetry and prose. 17 . .okay, but shouldn’t I have known better by 20?
“Why I Don’t See”
As I quietly watch you
I see love glimmer in your eyes
Why I don’t see.
I watch my love grow each day
Although you squash it
Why I don’t see.
Special Memories return
To haunt me each day
Why I don’t see.
What did you hurt me?
What should I have said?
Why won’t the pain stop?
What should I have done?
Why does my love continue?
Roses frame your heart
I know
You gave it to me.
Do you really not care?
That’s unfortunate.
I do.
I should have let you go.
I did it for you.
Shouldn’t I be happy for you?
The green-eyed monster strikes me.
Why I don’t see.
“Untitled”
How could you possibly know how I feel? Jealousy is forming cancerous legions [sic] in my body, my soul, my heart. The more I fight it, the faster it grows and invades and devours the healthy flesh pushing out consideration, understanding, love and kindness. I don’t want this disease to overtake me, it’s what I fight against. Who will win or more importantly who will lose? Does anyone see the struggle? What I need for the fight has been pushed underneath the sores and diseased tissue. Can you see the real me? Can you see her pushing her way through – the shining warmth of her eyes, behind the callous looks of her face? Look carefully – there she is . . . oh! Gone again in a mass of bent and twisted feelings, I am here. Please see that . . . Please remember me when I am gone way. Forgive me the pain, the hate, the jealousy.
The March 28th Extra-Ordinary: I am not certain the intended audience of either of these “pieces” – Yesterday’s heartbreaks passed.
The Daily EO 
These are truly priceless. I’m sure if I was to find any of my “work” at 17, there would have been a lot more swearing. 🙂
There was another one but it wasn’t fit for print – a lot of swearing, hate, venom!