Clothes and poetry

We started packing this weekend. I started with the clothes that I still can't wear - most since Little-L was born, but some since T-boy was born. I'd put them in bags to have cupboard space for the maternity clothes and the bigger sized clothes, so it's been over a year since I've seen them. It was a bit sad ... I love some of them and I don't know when or even if I'll wear them again.

I also came across a box of old letters and poems, some by me, some by C, and some by a boy who loved me despite me only liking him and so not being very gentle with his heart. I also found a book signed by my friends and classmates when we left school. And it was very weird reading all these things - especially those by people who are no longer in my life, and some who I don't even remember very well. The school one particularly struck me - some people wrote so much, but I don't remember being close to them. So who were they writing about? And why? I have no memory of writing pages and pages to anyone - I'm pretty sure the best I mustered was "good luck for the future".

Little-L was sitting on our bed while I was going through it all, and I wondered what he'll make of it if he ever finds it after I'm dead. Will he read it? Will he wonder about me as a young girl? Or will a daughter-in-law who's never liked me just snigger?

I don't know where I'm going with this, it was just a strange and melancholy moment.