My Purple Box.

I have been pampered by my family these last two days, and it made the whole breakup thing a whole let better.

Thanks to my dear parents, sister, and my brother-in-law. You made my day. Expect to see more of me in your lives - not because of what you've done for me, but because of who you are to me.

Went over to her place to pick up my stuff on Saturday. I asked her to give me the purple box in which she placed all the letters I wrote to her and she did so I took it home.

Looking through the letters I wrote, I found out that although the relationship started off for the wrong reason, somehow down the line I actually loved her. It was a passionate love - one that saw me doing stupid things and writing stupid words I wouldn't have wanted anyone else to read.

There were a bunch of chocolates that I gave to her to take to work. She was working at an insurance firm then. She's kept them in the box, kinda like the way I kept a pack of chocolates she gave me to take to work. I was working with a book distributor then.

She gave the box back, and I took it home.

Looking through the letters I wrote, and the cards I gave, and the movie tickets she kept, I felt strange - like a prisoner awaiting the trap door to open so he might be hung but it never came; the final gush of emotion held up like water in a bursting dam (ok the metaphor might be too literal here).

I couldn't cry.

And so the box sits on my table, gathering dust and turning into a sickly shade of gray. I wish to open it again someday with someone that I will love then, and hopefully have her tell me how sweet I can be despite all the shit I would have already put her through.

And one day we will show it to our daughter, and she will make fun of it in front of all the relatives.

And I will ground her for that.

I love being in love, and this purple box proves it.