I threw everything into the river, everything that represents him. A gift for valentines day he gave me, a bracelet, a love not, a comb he left at my place, only little things which I still had. They had to go. I went, I threw them one by one, banishing the memories that they were bound too. Then the last thing, the box.
I call it the box to those who actually care, that know about it. The box is about 20cm by 7cm by 5cm, small, brown, smells of worn perfume and nights out. Inside, 4 blood soaked tissues, a pair of scissors, a suicide note, 2 razors, sleeping pills and a needle. They had to go, maybe Id stop spilling my own blood if that went.
The last object I had in bag wasn’t going into the river. It was too personal for that. I went to the forest on the edge of the park, rolled over a log, and put it under there. I know he comes here. I know he might find this, and he’ll know its mine, if he ever finds it. A journal I got from my japan trip 08, covered in red leather, tinted blue pages which hold all the feelings I ever had. It talks about how I view the world, how I feel, what I do to myself, what I want, whats happening to me. Everything. I started that painfully book the day he left.
That was 3 days ago. I wonder if anyone has found it yet.