In front of me, I have six objects.
A box of breakfast bars.
A jar of weed.
A pair of socks.
I have memories, longing.
I am moved, yet powerless.
Displeased, but compassionate.
Each one evoking emotion from me, each one a reminder for different parts of the relationship. When things were good, bad, and neutral.
I am filled with emotion, intuition, and compassion. But I am also in pain.
When I see the hoodie, I think about how he looked as a preteen. Always so embarrassed of it, but I thought it was adorable. I had a soft spot in my heart for his childhood, I cared about what he had experienced and was always interested in learning more.
When I look at the socks, I remember how easily he was distracted. How easily he forgot things. I found it endearing. He had forgotten my birthday, and even after my birthday, he forgot to give me my gift for a long time. I’m not sure if he was actually forgetful or if he just didn’t really care. Felt ambivalent toward me. I guess I’ll never really know the truth. He was always like that, though. I fell in love with it. The way he would stare off at something and just be thinking about the most random shit. It made my heart glow.
The breakfast bars. They remind me of the times just before the end. When he started his job and became distant. We went shopping together and I was trying so hard to get him to be present with me, but he just wasn’t. It made me wonder if there was someone he worked with that he liked. He brought me with him to where he worked, but when I visited him on his break, he seemed really distracted and like he didn’t want me to be there.
The jar of weed and lighters. This one is mixed for me. There is so much attached to it. The memories of the night before the party, when we argued and he told me he didn’t see a future together. He made me cry a lot, said he didn’t want to break up, but it was the beginning of the end to me. Things never felt the same after that. I didn’t trust that he loved me. The party itself, he got drunk and looked at other girls. But I met his friends, I tried to forget about the problems we were having. I stole the weed and lighters to have some fun and bond with him. Then Uber ride with the police officer, I had the weed in my purse and was worried as fuck. It was on my body, not his. I took so much risk there. When we got home, he was so drunk. His helplessness reminded me of my dad, and I was so disgusted. He hurt me a lot that weekend. It didn’t end that night either. The next day he took the weed from my purse, and to me, that was incredibly rude. I didn’t take it for the actual weed itself. Sure, that seemed like a fun thing at the time, but for me, it was really about making the memory of doing something stupid like that together. For me, it was about doing something risky together. Bonding. After our near-breakup the night before, I wanted us to feel close and connected. But I ended up putting myself in a dangerous situation with the cop- and then the next day T just took it. Put it in his closet like it was his, and his alone. As if I hadn’t been there with him at all and he had done it alone. To him, he was entitled to it. That was his jar of weed.
The really funny thing was that I didn’t care what was inside that jar at all. I just wanted a sentimental object, I just wanted to believe my relationship wasn’t already falling apart.
The only reason I have it now is that he wasn’t going to smoke when finding a new job. So I took it back.
And now I ache when I look at it.