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Sunken ships.

I read through some old journals the other day. The ones I had forgotten about. The ones I had missed when I cleared them all out. I'd stumbled across the collection before and tried to read through them. They didn't last long. Page by page into the shredder. All those thoughts and memories and ideas just broken pieces in a bin.

But I missed some.

She found one and she read it. There wasn't any reason to be ashamed, but I was. I didn't want those memories anymore. I had already moved on. But they were there. And later, I found the rest of them. I felt guilty. Guilty that I had tried to hold on to them and that I had tried to get rid of them. I read through some of my more recent journals. Too many voices.

I keep things. I keep junk and papers. I keep broken things. I keep secrets.

I can't help it. I hold on to them. I always panic when I wonder what would happen if I didn't. Maybe I ought to try, anyway.

Comments

Ashley said…
I don't think there's anything with holding on to memories. It doesn't mean you haven't moved on with life, unless there's something in them I don't know about- and probably wouldn't want to know about if that's the case. I keep my journals and read them. It's kind of nice, seeing how far I've come in life.
April 16, 2009 at 7:36 PM
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