It took me a day.
Deleted.
Not normal everryday stuff. Just the things I had no right to.
Photos, ones sent when in love. Things men and women sent to each other. As soon as I could.
It felt sad. I felt stupid when in my head I worried that she would think that me deleting them means I never wanted them
That is not true.
Files, folders, recordings. Anything private that had to go back to being that way. Gone. All deleted and removed. It does not belong to me.
Again, part of me worried she would think it’s because I never wanted to be part of that.
It wasn’t that at all. I had no right to it.
I didn’t delete everything. I kept nothing of the private and personal things. I kept one folder, 18 photos. A photo with two people in, a photo with three people in, four, five and nine. Simple photos, small moments. I’ve never done that before, and I know it won’t be done again because that was all I never wanted.
The things we say and do when we are hurt, are not a reflection of what we truly feel when the fires burn out. So even if these photos sometimes bring me to my knees. I just, no matter what I said on here before, never want to forget.