we should get jerseys, 'cause we make a good team.
This is a post about love and memories and nostalgia and basically the ramblings of a huge romantic vagine. Sorry for the babble and incoherence.
I've spent the day working on cleaning and organizing parts of my room, which inevitably means stumbling upon memories in several forms. Photos, notes, letters, poetry, drawings... the ones that hold the most nostalgia, I find, are those belonging to past lovers. They make me smile and they make some part of my heart ache as I blow dust off old emotions, trying to remember how it felt then, to love them and to be loved by them. The melodramatic poetry of a heartbroken 14-year-old (god I was cool,) a Valentine offering love and praise from a boy who'd not likely present the same sentiments these days, a Christmas card from a lost love whose sentiments about me I may never again know. It's all a bit strange, especially to go from her letters to his to hers. Even in the Internet age, I'm glad I still have some tangible, permanent evidence of loves long gone. I knew I should've saved that poetry before she locked up that journal.
Through middle school and high school, my more fastidious and less emotional friends gave me a hard time about saving as much stuff as I did. Ultimately unimportant things, like notes passed in class or birthday cards with something doodled inside. I regret nothing! I'm so glad I still have all of these to look back on. Someday I'll organize all these old documents into years or months or maybe categories if one particular author or artist has contributed enough to warrant one. It's been at most eight or so years since I've started accumulating any of this, and if it makes me this happy now, I can't wait for what it's going to be like to look back on all these memories ten years from now.
I opened a box from under my bed a placed an orange fleece jacket, a pink Be Mine teddybear, a copper rose and a Christmas card in a drawer with memorabilia from other lovers like a t-shirt tied up in a plastic bag that still smells of him four years later (no, seriously), some dogtags and several more letters and cards. The dried roses that were in the same box under my bed have joined the vase with several others, now indistinguishable from all the rest of the dried roses from other lovers or friends or sweet 16's. I keep finding little ways to make closure for myself. She left her mark on my heart harder and deeper than anyone before her and likely anyone after, but I'm proud to say I'm closer to healed now than I thought I would be even just a few months ago. That void is finally being filled.
I'm going to be that old lady with boxes and boxes of old love letters in her attic, and I'm cool with that. It sounds cliche, but I do seem to measure my life in love.. compartmentalizing periods of my life by where I was romantically, or what my heart was doing. For as long as I can remember, my life's been heavily influenced by.. well, for the most part, romantic pursuits and unrequited crushes and that business. The search for love, basically. And every once in a while, I'll find it, or something like it. And those are the experiences that shape me most, and continue to shape me even once they're long gone.
It's not to say the love of my friends and parents aren't extremely influential on my being as well.. but there's nothing quite like finding that one person to invest everything in, to talk to every day not out of obligation but out of emotional necessity, to talk about and write to and draw for. It's those people that affect me most emotionally, because as willing as I am to love people who come into my life, opening my heart to true, genuine, romantic love is a much harder process.. something I've certainly learned in the past year. But when I finally open the door to that part of my heart... oh lordy, it can be quite wonderful. There's nothing quite like being in love.
For as overly-sensitive and overly-emotional as I am.. I wouldn't change it even if I could. If I didn't feel the lows as hard as I do, I wouldn't feel the highs as ferociously and passionately as I do! Those emotional highs are what I live for! It sucks so hard sometimes because things aren't always wonderful, but as my mother told me I would, I've gotten better with dealing with my over-sensitivity as I've gotten older. And increased positivity as of late has meant fewer and shorter lows and even more appreciation for the highs.
I'm ready for my heart to be open again. I'm ready to make more new memories. I'm totally okay with being as much of a completely ridiculous romantic as I am, and I'm totally okay with this feeling! ♥
I've spent the day working on cleaning and organizing parts of my room, which inevitably means stumbling upon memories in several forms. Photos, notes, letters, poetry, drawings... the ones that hold the most nostalgia, I find, are those belonging to past lovers. They make me smile and they make some part of my heart ache as I blow dust off old emotions, trying to remember how it felt then, to love them and to be loved by them. The melodramatic poetry of a heartbroken 14-year-old (god I was cool,) a Valentine offering love and praise from a boy who'd not likely present the same sentiments these days, a Christmas card from a lost love whose sentiments about me I may never again know. It's all a bit strange, especially to go from her letters to his to hers. Even in the Internet age, I'm glad I still have some tangible, permanent evidence of loves long gone. I knew I should've saved that poetry before she locked up that journal.
Through middle school and high school, my more fastidious and less emotional friends gave me a hard time about saving as much stuff as I did. Ultimately unimportant things, like notes passed in class or birthday cards with something doodled inside. I regret nothing! I'm so glad I still have all of these to look back on. Someday I'll organize all these old documents into years or months or maybe categories if one particular author or artist has contributed enough to warrant one. It's been at most eight or so years since I've started accumulating any of this, and if it makes me this happy now, I can't wait for what it's going to be like to look back on all these memories ten years from now.
I opened a box from under my bed a placed an orange fleece jacket, a pink Be Mine teddybear, a copper rose and a Christmas card in a drawer with memorabilia from other lovers like a t-shirt tied up in a plastic bag that still smells of him four years later (no, seriously), some dogtags and several more letters and cards. The dried roses that were in the same box under my bed have joined the vase with several others, now indistinguishable from all the rest of the dried roses from other lovers or friends or sweet 16's. I keep finding little ways to make closure for myself. She left her mark on my heart harder and deeper than anyone before her and likely anyone after, but I'm proud to say I'm closer to healed now than I thought I would be even just a few months ago. That void is finally being filled.
I'm going to be that old lady with boxes and boxes of old love letters in her attic, and I'm cool with that. It sounds cliche, but I do seem to measure my life in love.. compartmentalizing periods of my life by where I was romantically, or what my heart was doing. For as long as I can remember, my life's been heavily influenced by.. well, for the most part, romantic pursuits and unrequited crushes and that business. The search for love, basically. And every once in a while, I'll find it, or something like it. And those are the experiences that shape me most, and continue to shape me even once they're long gone.
It's not to say the love of my friends and parents aren't extremely influential on my being as well.. but there's nothing quite like finding that one person to invest everything in, to talk to every day not out of obligation but out of emotional necessity, to talk about and write to and draw for. It's those people that affect me most emotionally, because as willing as I am to love people who come into my life, opening my heart to true, genuine, romantic love is a much harder process.. something I've certainly learned in the past year. But when I finally open the door to that part of my heart... oh lordy, it can be quite wonderful. There's nothing quite like being in love.
For as overly-sensitive and overly-emotional as I am.. I wouldn't change it even if I could. If I didn't feel the lows as hard as I do, I wouldn't feel the highs as ferociously and passionately as I do! Those emotional highs are what I live for! It sucks so hard sometimes because things aren't always wonderful, but as my mother told me I would, I've gotten better with dealing with my over-sensitivity as I've gotten older. And increased positivity as of late has meant fewer and shorter lows and even more appreciation for the highs.
I'm ready for my heart to be open again. I'm ready to make more new memories. I'm totally okay with being as much of a completely ridiculous romantic as I am, and I'm totally okay with this feeling! ♥