Boxed Memories

"Though that sadness had subsided, the darkness remained.
Though our emotions were irrational, our conversations were very literal.
We talked about everything. My take-it-as-it-comes objective surrounded us and, though my belief in the success of “first love” spun inside her head, we talked about the world like it was just something we were doing, some place we were passing through –our souls had greater universes to conquer together.
We talked about suicide&death so often, I became numb to the idea of dying. “I’d never overdose. I’m not a pussy. I’d have balls and shoot myself.” “If one of us dies, the other has to come back to Disney World and buy two tickets for both of us.” She’d joke about walking through the Magic Kingdom, holding my hand made of air, buying us a soft pretzel to share, & spinning on the tea cups till she threw up.
We’d write down every memory, so that we could “open boxes” when we missed each other –boxes full of smiles and interlocking fingers. She knew that I’d be surviving on those boxes that Sunday night when I talked to her.
“If I don’t see you, there’s a box in the closet.”
“Well good. You should think about those boxes next time you’re upset with me.” I irritated blurted in retaliation to her recent text insults sent through one of her drug-induced stupors.
“I know. There’s a box for you, though. I love you.”
Numbed.
Had I not been numbed, I would have realized that particular box was different –a box that I’d find without her being there... when I wouldn’t
“see her.” " - excerpt from the novel I plan to finish someday


Boxed Memory: Roller Skating on Valentine's Day - she was too afraid to roll around the rink, but I held her hand and loved every moment anyway.