as a girl, my journals would find ways of falling into black holes.  i had to anchor them down from such leaps through space and time by finding creative hiding spots to park them.  eventually they would wiggle themselves free though and off they would go.  i was never quite sure what my mom did with them all.  mostly likely they made their way to a dust mountain.  

as i grew older i wrote here and there on a clunky PC that met its demise circa 2004.  despite its clunkiness, the act of doing so still felt… sacred almost.  like a secret so ridiculous you dare not share it with anyone.  despite the absence of a kidnapper or a creator of black holes, my secrets vanished all the same when the shitty PC bit the dust.

so i went back to the tangible.  the classic black and white marble journal.

eventually i did bore of it.  after my first mac, i started writing in a journal app and backing it up with my time machine.

then somehow i began spitting things out into the interwebs, on this mess of a blog, ignoring my once so useful app.

present day, i was clearing away some things and this curious black and white marble journal fell open at my feet.  curious, i bent over it and read from where it opened.  at first skeptical of what i may find, i read on only to hear myself laughing from the entry about andrew deeds and how stuuupid i was for ever dating him in the first place.  seemingly safe enough, i scooped it up into my arms and carried it to a table to further explore its contents.  

it is amusing to me that my entries generally consist of the romantic drama in my life with notes here and there about a book i was currently reading.  easily enough, one could flip a few pages and live animated and curious and naive moments only to flip a few more and discover the massive disappointment from the very same individual who did once spark such different sentiments.  how predictable this heart had become!  

the amusement slowly ended as i approached a story i knew all too well albeit several years in the past.  ah such heartbreak!  such confusion!  such tragedy!  but when it was good, my god was it good.  reading those good parts made me realize that i havent felt like that about anyone since then.  sure, i thought i was in love here and there, but looking back i realize it was nothing more than an infatuation that at some point or another deflated, leaving disappoint in its wake yet again.  

with that i closed the journal.  and i felt very sad, very empty.  i missed him.  and it hurt.  it hurt years ago and a small wave of it caught up with me.  

it reminds me of a rock tossed into a creek.  the moment it makes contact, breaks the smooth and beautiful flow of hydrogen molecules that once clung so well together, you can almost hear the resounding thud as you watch the water ripple outward from the point of impact.  the waves spread out and out and out and become hardly a whisper. 

although years have passed, the ripples keep spreading out and out. 

a friend of mine told me to throw away the journal.  ”its the past; its gone and you live in the present.”  yes, i do.  it is gone.  but can i really throw out this historic collection of so much of my puny little life?  throw away the memory of the one man who may have really captured my heart?  throw it away and possibly live in a better ignorant world where i may get lost in more and more trivial little trysts and think i am onto something but find myself surrounded more creatures of hebetude?  or should i keep it and know that yes, at some point i did experience it all, that it does exist, that it is possible of finding it somewhere again?  there is more than heart ache in that book, but all the same - i am aware that the things i really need will always be with me.  

i just don’t know if i can really part with it, let it be gobbled up by another dust cloud.  perhaps it is a bit masochistic to hold onto it, but what would you do? 

(originally written 2 january 2010)

thank you to maria and ian for answering.  one was for hold onto it and the other was to get rid of it, haha.