Love Stories For A Rainy Day

xxi - nostalgic

Our memories are wrapped up in a bundle at the back of my wardrobe. We didn't even last the winter of '97, but I still keep them for old times sake. I should have moved on by now, but I can't bring myself to part with anything.

I have the first letter you sent to me, in which you had scrawled, as if in haste, your feelings for me. How you had loved me for a long time, and how all you ever wanted was for me to reciprocate those feelings. I had read that letter with a smile a mile wide across my face, because every night before then I had dreamed of us. The dream had unfolded and formed into reality.

I have the photo you took of me on our first date; an indie concert featuring an underground band you loved. We had gone out with a group of friends and you, with your old fashioned polaroid camera, had snapped a photo of me in amongst the crowd. It wasn't the most flattering picture of me but I kept it, because the love and happiness was evident in my eyes. The love and happiness I had felt for you.

I have your folded up t-shirt you left at my place one night. It's the one with 'Deep Purple' printed across the front; one of your favourite bands. You loved that t-shirt, so much that you left it with me. It still smells of you. Sometimes, when I'm feeling alone, or at least more alone than usual, I smell it and convince myself that you're still here.

I have the paper cup from Starbucks that has 'Holmes, Sherlock' scrawled across the side. It had been your idea of fun, and indeed, everyones reaction the the name after the barista with the warts had called it out was hilarious. We had escaped the shop in a hurry and ran laughing up the streets, tripping over mounds of snow and stopping every now and then to catch our breath.

I have the print out of the email you had sent me, telling me that we weren't right for one another and that we should stop because it was wrong. Every time I look at it, tears swell up in the corners of my eyes and it takes everything in me not to break down and cry.

My dreams of us unfolded, and formed into a reality. The problem with reality is that nothing ever turns out right. At least in my dreams we had happy endings. Now, all I have is memories, and a sense of emptiness that will never be filled.