TK's Blog

There is a box in a box in a box in my room, where i keep all my precious things. A ceramic tile bought for four euros to remind me of a holiday in Andalucia, my grandmother's photo album painting bark from Sigiriya, the letter my first girlfriend wrote me for our six month anniversary and a Christmas card with a picture circa 2001, complete with hand drawn stars and impeccable handwriting.

I like this treasure trove of memories- something tangible to link me back, a trail of breadcrumbs to the happiest times of my life. Now, with the Christmas card in front of me, I am six years old in my friend Mac's house, smelling of clean wood and pasta. I can hear her mother's accent.

The Ex, somehow, has nothing in the box. It wasn't a conscious decision, but that's how it panned out. I can't help but feel that that's a sign of something. There's nothing to put in there even, not even a picture. Nothing of us belongs in the box somehow. I find that... not as sad as I'd thought I would.

Tonight I added something new to the box. It's a pendant, a celtic knot on a cord. And really, it should have been in there long ago, because the person who gave it to me has been there all along. It really is too obvious.

Clearly the season has gotten to me.

Song of the Moment: The Cranberries- Analyse