Hanging on my tie rack in the dark corner of my closet is Buddy's old leash. Sure, he's been gone well over a decade. I am not even sure why I still have it. I don't recall consciously telling myself not to discard it. It's just one of those tangible items that seems almost sacriligious to throw away.
I guess there's a thin line between being a hoarder and simply, being sentimental. Sentimental may not even be the right word here. It's human to hang on to things that once served a purpose but no longer do.
This leash was once bright red. Now, it's tattered and the faded red is almost dirty brown colored. It's just a leash, I tell myself. Bittersweet, certainly.
Buddy did a lot of things that could melt the coldest of hearts or brighten the darkest of days. Be it, resting his head at the foot of my bed with sad eyes; hoping I let him jump up and sleep with me... only, to then selfishly take over the whole bed. Or be it, how he patiently sat at my feet as I ate dinner; looking down on the floor waiting for something to fall from my plate. Maybe, of all those heartwarming habits my once vibrant black lab had was when he wanted to take a walk. He would grab the leash from the back of the chair with his mouth and carry it over to me. Even if I tried to ignore him, he would simply follow me around; leash in mouth. Always and I mean, always... I relented. Buddy got his walk.
This leash is also the very one I used to lead him into the vet's office one last time. Bittersweet, as I said.
This piece of rope has no monetary value and I wouldn't sell it for any price. And I can't even understand my own reasoning behind this. I don't want to let it go.
I have 25 texts saved on my phone. Each loving and affectionate from whom I can only consider the love of my life. The last one was saved in 2013. We endured well beyond that. Someone once told me what isn't nurtured will not grow. And that person was right yet I cling to 2013 and before when loving words came much easier. I can't delete those messages. I won't delete them. Next time, I buy a new phone, those will be transferred. Silly? Probably.
This whole notion that we need to stop dwelling in the past doesn't set well with me. Never has.
I've been watching old Johnny Carson shows lately. A week ago, I watched an old episode of Johnny where one of his guests was some unknown kid. Johnny listened to the kid talk about his hopes and dreams. Then told him, your best days are ahead. I thought about that. It resonated with me because we throw that phrase out carelessly to younger people.
Eventually, ahead becomes now. I think we forget that. Sometimes ahead is really at that moment. There are no guarantees that life gets better just because we grow older. I suppose it's all relative anyway.
I preferred the days of summer as a kid. Sleep in. Watch cartoons. Go outside and play. And then count down to school starting at the end of August. I would call those days better than any day since I had to have a job and schooling was over.
I preferred high school. Everyone was awkward. We loved with intensity. Everything was dramatic. Nothing grew stale. We believed in forever.
No one throws out their yearbooks. Or childhood photo albums. No one wants to forget their past. The past was better. Different. Easier. Relatively, speaking.
I've had the same email account since 1999. It was created for me by a friend that has long left us. He was fascinated by this new world called the internet. We, his friends, jokingly would tell him, the internet is for pedophiles and fags. His self-confidence never wavering; embraced what took us years to accept as the new normal. God bless him. He would love the evolution of the internet if he was still around.
This email account has become a landfill of spam and naked pictures of Anna Kournikova links. It's frustrating to navigate and find emails I need because having an email account that is 17 years old means every Nigerian Prince and corporation now has me on file to message.
My point, albeit I am taking the long way of getting there, is my email account feels like the last living thing I have to remember that old best friend. He excitedly made that hotmail account for me. How can I just stop using it?
There's a thin line between being a hoarder and being sentimental, I guess.
Someday, I'll get a new dog. And a new leash.
Someday, I will fall in love again. And I will be writing about the love of my life right here.
Someday.
Our best days are always ahead.
