Unfinished

Dear Ex,

I was wondering if you could send me a roll of tape? You see, I'm packing to move. Go to college. Yah know, live the life I was going to give up for you.

As I pack, I'm finding all your stuff. Like those books you gave me. The Tolkien and the Bibles. We both liked books, just not the samew kind. Okay, we didn't have much in common at all.

I found your clothes too. They were stuffed in the back of my closet, where my parents wouldn't find them. Your swimsuit was there too. I considered giving it all to Goodwill (your tastes were appalling enough that that is about all they're good for), but I didn't know if you wanted any of it back. I might leave them on your front step instead.

I don't know whether to keep or throw away all the corsages. Part of me wants to keep them for the "sentimental value", but from a common sense standpoint, that seems childish and pointless. Besides, they're all dusty anyhow. You did pick the colors well, I have to hand you that. Even though I always gave you a fabric sample.

The same goes for the dozen roses. I still have them, deader than doornails, and in the same vase too. I've kept every petal that has fell off them, though I don't know why. They're just like the memories; they have a funny way of sticking around, even though they are unwanted. The hearts are still in my closet too, by the way. The little pink and red ones you put with the roses on Valentine's Day.

I still have the blanket you sent me. I can't really bring it to school with me, it's from the wrong university and it's the wrong colors. I don't think my roommates would appreciate it. Besides, I'm getting new blankets, ones I'm choosing.

I still have the teddy bear too. He's kinda dirty now, I really need to run him through the wash machine. I never renamed his after we broke up- he's still named after you. I don't love you anymore, but for your own sake, please don't ever take to wearing a red bow around your neck like your namesake. It's not your style.

Your phone numbers are still in my cell phone. I thought about deleting them, but then realized I might need them if I ever want to get a hold of you and tell you to come get your stuff back.

The rings are in my jewelry box. I'm not taking it with me to college- too big. But your classring is still in there, in the chain you gave me. Oh, and the other ring is in there too- you know. I stopped wearing it a month before I sent you the letter. It felt less wrong that way. And the questions were getting to be too much, especially when I didn't even know if I was answering them truthfully. Any ring you ever wear on that finger attracts attention. I wish you'd take it back, or had never sent it at all.

I guess that's all. That's the inventory. Not much, after two years together. I was expecting to find more. But that was it. Everything that's tangible. Everything else was just an illusion, and now a memory. I wish the scars were real, so I could show my battle wounds with some sort of perverse pride. They're all hidden though, only existing inside. I wish the insults and hurts has volume, so I could hand them back to you, but with much more care than they were ever given with to me. I wish my heart were made of glass, then I could pick up the pieces and glue it back together. But you have a piece of it anyway, which you haven't returned, so I guess that won't work either. Oh, and one other thing. I wish I had a recording of those words. Not the four that every woman dreams of hearing since she's four years old- no, a recording of "That sort of thing doesn't happen to missionaries." Then, I could smash it. Even though it will always play over and over in my head, always haunting, there in every breeze, marring everything beautiful, ruining every chance at trusting again.

I packed up my room today. I put my life in cardboard boxes, and sorted what would come with me, what would be left behind yet kept, and what would be thrown away. Your clothes, books, rings, flowers, the blanket, the bear- they're all in a box. I haven't taped it yet, but I did label it with a marker: Unfinished. I put it in the corner for now. Out of sight, but never completely out of mind.

If you could send me that roll of tape, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks.

Your Ex.