Found Things

Removing some nail polish this morning, I inadvertently damaged a few spots on my dark chocolate coffee table surface. Remembering that I purchased furniture protection on this piece, I went in search of my warranty agreement, and came across a few of the photos and other tangible remnants of my feelings for/relationship with the artiste. One of these is an e-mail trail from about two years ago, after a museum outing...I could only read a little of it. Another item is the canceled check for the first painting of his that I ever bought, yet another a poem that a former friend wrote for me, in which she asserted her belief that this time I would not be disappointed by unrequited love. I am keeping these things because they all came from a pure, honest place...and in truth, the point is not to remove any indication that I ever knew him. And I have already thrown out many things that would have been cumbersome or foolish to keep.

I have wondered, absently, about each of these things from time to time...and as is always the case, I stumbled upon them when they were far from my consideration. I found them the morning after the night I wrote him to tell him that I would not be attending his wedding, with no explanation as to why.

About one week ago he wrote me seeking my postal address, and the only reasonable explanation for why he'd need that is for the purpose of sending me an invitation. The invitation I do not want to receive.

If this were 10 years ago, I would feel that I owed it to him, as his friend, to be there...my own heartache be damned. But I am an old lady now, and am not so enamored of emotional martyrdom as I once was.

The warranty was mixed in with these things. They're coming out on Friday to repair my table.