As I was moving, I found a box full of paper. Old letters, cards, photos, and notebooks. You know, the little half-size spirals. I have half a dozen of them, along with a few dozen more loose sheets. They are full of my “poems”. A few are the traditional kind, but most are free verse, sort of a freestyle diary about whatever was weighing heavily on my mind—friends, relationships, the future, and the past.
They are full of my memories. Some make me sad, some make me nostalgic, some remind me what it was like to be young and passionate. Oddly enough, I discovered that the ones that are about my first love say many of the same things I’ve said to him lately, including how hard it is to be apart from him. We had a long-distance relationship that first time, too. Funny how the feelings haven’t changed much—just the time, the place, and the delivery method. I loved him with all my heart then; and even with all that has happened to both of us in the years between, I love him with all my heart now.
I was trying to tell someone what they were, and the best I could come up with was that they were like my blog, only on paper; a sort of artsy diary. Sometimes I’d share them with the relevant person, but most of the time I didn’t.
I’ve considered taking those notebooks and typing them all up, just to have them electronically; then I could throw the notebooks away and save some space, which is at a premium in an apartment. I don’t know why I would want to keep them; I guess it’s just because they are a part of me—a part of my past. Those experiences, both love and heartbreak, are a big part of what’s made me who I am.
Now, I do the same thing, but electronically—with this blog. It’s still the place I go to spill my guts when I have something to say that I can’t keep inside anymore. Some things have to be shared even if they are private, or they will drive you crazy. There are the ups and the downs, the good and the bad, but it feels better to get them out. Sometimes the act of writing it out helps me think; helps me sort it out in my mind for myself. I’m constantly amazed that anyone is interested in reading it.