I have moved a lot in the last few years and for the first time in a long time I have the time and the courage to open boxes that have long been sealed, forgotten, in storage.
I found a box of letters and poems (oh my god, I was horrible) and writing from 35 years ago. And picture.
That’s me. And Debbie. Decades ago. Brother and sister. Now, we live together, decades later. Brother and sister.
The letters were carefully sorted into banded bundles by author. I had completely forgotten some of these people, and, too, forgotten how obsessive a letter writer I was before email happened and long distance calling disappeared.
Do you remember carbon copies? I made carbons of many of the letters I wrote. Or, COPIED THEM BY HAND!
There are bundles from three men with whom I was obsessed, and one man who was obsessed with me and I am as HORRIFIED by those letters as I am by the poems.
I may never Tweet or write again. Who wants more horrifying shit like that left as record? Of my life.
Also, the letters are FILLED with people’s secrets. I had forgotten how may people confessed to me. Confided in me.
I had also forgotten how certain I was of all I would be.
And, oh dear, never was.
So, I am going to continue being quiet a while. I killed a few social media accounts. I am feeling at loose ends. My chest is tight. I am, well, I am fine. But, I don’t want to talk anymore. I don’t want any more “never was” or “never will be”or bundles of letters or memories of people where the feelings didn’t match and I didn’t know enough to let go. Or, get out.
I. Have. Never. Learned.