Losing little bits and peices of you.

Today was cleaning day. More specifically, it was the "clean this mess of a house in preparation for the family get together for Thanksgiving" day. My task was to enter my old room and clear out anything that could be removed. I spent the entire day sorting through stacks of papers, toys, crayons, stickers, coloring books, and other oddiments that sat quietly in that room collecting a decades' worth of dust.

All the while, as I dragged along the black plastic garbage bag, I felt like I was throwing away little bits and pieces of my life. From the colored ribbons you get for competing in races to little toy figurines that I used to sit around for hours moving them around in my own little world. I had already discovered to my dismay that my mother had already donated my entire Hotwheels toy car collection to some charity. Oh, the long lost hours I spent pretending to drive them to who knows where.

I threw away the deck of cards and foam rabbit I had been given from my failed attempt to become a magician. I threw away the stacks of construction paper that I kept on the off chance I might have to put together some crazy yet interesting collage. I threw away the stacks of worn and tattered trading cards that I had insisted that all my relatives get me when I was younger. And as I threw away these things, I felt my melancholy grow increasingly sharper as if I were being stabbed by a sharp pointed object aimed at my heart.

I hadn't realized how important these things had been to me until I was tasked with the mission of throwing them away. Each item I threw away was a memory. A minute stretch of time when I idled away forever waiting for adulthood to come so that I could do what I wanted to do and not what my parents wanted me to do.

And here I am, in my adulthood, wishing so fiercely that I could return to that time and perhaps knock some sense into my younger self. Wishing that I could go back to that time and tell myself that I should value every moment of my youth. To tell myself to not look forward to tomorrow merely as another inch torward the stormy future I have survived thus far. I wished I had laughed a little more as a child. I wished I had enjoyed each moment of that time instead of acting with the maturity beyond my years.

I suppose I have my regrets. I suppose I will always wish to change what cannot be changed. I know now that tomorrow, when I wake up to a new sunrise, I will hold each moment more preciously, as I remember how little I valued the time I have already spent.

I wanted to share this feeling with someone special to me, but I am alone and have no one to share it with. Since I cannot share this sentiment with the woman I would love, I will share it with all the world and hope that she is reading. Good night, my Love.