Let me begin with an apology to Hawthorne for the title above. This has nothing to do with Nathaniel H's novel, of the same title (but in the singular form). This is not about the scarlet letter 'A' but about letters (as in love letters) that I came across today while looking for my birth certificate. One of the things I hate doing is rummaging through my old files because I know that I will unfailingly stumble upon an old love letter or two written not by my old boyfriends (although I have a few of those too) but rather, letters written by myself to old flames, ex-boyfriends, or secret crushes . Each time I come across these letters, I get goosebumps and I ask myself, "why, oh why, were you so stupid back then?"
And why the hell do I keep these letters around if it bothers me to see them? Well, I'm such a sentimental pack rat, that's what I am. I keep everything from old concert tickets, to chocolate wrappers given by boyfriends, to old Keno records (Oh my God, do I hear "I'm leaving yesterday behind" in the background?). It's just that each time I read these letters, I get transported to "the moment" when a particular love letter was written, and feel "the emotion" (usually pain and anger, I was full of existentialist angst back then) that I used to feel about the relationship or the person.
Today, I read an old letter that I never got to send to this guy from my lurid, sinful past. Let's not name names but, okay, we can call him "A-hole" with a capital "A" for the purpose of this blog entry. A-hole takes the trophy as the shittiest ex-boyfriend this side of the universe. They say time heals all wounds, but in this case, I say, killing him with my bare hands will heal all wounds. I haven't forgiven that git. If I see him now, I won't be responsible for my actions.
I think it's time I junk these old letters. They make me remember the past and mostly not with fondness but with regret and pain. (Oh, the pain!) The only good thing though about the past is that it reaffirms God's love for me. In this case, God must really love me to have spared me the crap that I would have gone through if I ended up with that gutless git. But then again, I would still kill him with my bare hands...
And why the hell do I keep these letters around if it bothers me to see them? Well, I'm such a sentimental pack rat, that's what I am. I keep everything from old concert tickets, to chocolate wrappers given by boyfriends, to old Keno records (Oh my God, do I hear "I'm leaving yesterday behind" in the background?). It's just that each time I read these letters, I get transported to "the moment" when a particular love letter was written, and feel "the emotion" (usually pain and anger, I was full of existentialist angst back then) that I used to feel about the relationship or the person.
Today, I read an old letter that I never got to send to this guy from my lurid, sinful past. Let's not name names but, okay, we can call him "A-hole" with a capital "A" for the purpose of this blog entry. A-hole takes the trophy as the shittiest ex-boyfriend this side of the universe. They say time heals all wounds, but in this case, I say, killing him with my bare hands will heal all wounds. I haven't forgiven that git. If I see him now, I won't be responsible for my actions.
I think it's time I junk these old letters. They make me remember the past and mostly not with fondness but with regret and pain. (Oh, the pain!) The only good thing though about the past is that it reaffirms God's love for me. In this case, God must really love me to have spared me the crap that I would have gone through if I ended up with that gutless git. But then again, I would still kill him with my bare hands...
