Leon's Random Ramblings

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Memories are made of this

Sorting Out papersYesterday was an interesting and somewhat sad-happy day. I spent the whole day sorting through a few boxes of old stuff. Mostly paperwork. A few old receipts, a few momentos, even some cash slips and photos dating back a few years.

You see, after I moved out of the house (I’m divorced, you know), my life went into a crazy spin and I  didn’t really open all my boxes. I moved out and I only opened the stuff I really needed because I was working like a madman to earn some money to pay for the mess.

Besides, He was very good to me and placed me in an extremely happy house, filled with love and happiness. I didn’t need a lot. I spent two years soaking up the love I never had, amazed at the wonder of receiving love instead of just giving and not receiving anything back in return. I actually named the house “Happy House”.

But time is a great healer (although a lousy beautician). I moved again to this house and now I have to unpack the last bit of mess. I unpacked everything else first so this is the final bit. Yup, 3 years’ worth. Initially it went quickly because a lot of it is simply paperwork destined for the tax archives, but every now and then something interesting would pop up and I would reminisce for a few seconds.

My parent’s final estate winding up letter. I miss them. I wonder if they would understand?

A photo dating back to seemingly happy times. I thought that was happiness. Now I know better.

Pictures of my children when they were a lot smaller. I hope they will forgive me. I married for love and didn’t mean to push them away. Like I mentioned in an earlier post the person who loves most has least power.

Oh, some sentimental sms messages I wanted to keep and printed out. I actually believed them. How blind can one be.

Ah, here is a report from a private investigator. At the time it was an awesome birthday present. Now it is just some words.

And then it was over. All the boxes unpacked, all the memories relived. I feel better now.

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