I've had some time to think about what the contents of B's box of memories might hold. It makes me feel sick in my stomach and a little excited. But only a very little bit.

The excited bit wonders if he'll remember how much we loved eachother and remember me fondly, which is all I could ever want.

The rest of me says DANGER! NOTHING GOOD CAN COME OF THIS!

When we were together I wrote B poetry, stories, dirty fantasies. We we're apart for months at a time and when we weren't running up huge phone bills, I was writing diaries to him. So passionate about B was I that he consumed my every thought.

It's not fair that he gets to open a box and read my secrets, promises, words of unconditional love sealed in a time capsule. I feel bound to the words, the only promises I have ever broken. I don't want him to be able to read them whenever he wants. I don't want them to be read by his new fiance! But where does a box of love go when the love had dissappeared?

It's all that's left of all I ever was.