Life has a way of disregarding how much we need our past to stay in our past. There’s a reason we all compartmentalize our trauma or any poignant experience for that matter. It’s a way of dealing with things without having to deal with them always. It’s a way of clearing our present. And safeguarding our hearts and minds

It’s been a long winter day, but it’s felt like spring. It’s a day of organizing so I’m sitting with my laptop in my lap, clearing old emails from my inboxes and redistributing emails, with folder names like “to remember”, “to buy”, “receipts”, etc. I was like that, everything and everyone had its place. Down right to my exes.

Aside from the rest of the folders, there are a few more titled with either the name of a movie, a song, or a phrase. Each one contains emails, photographs, and scanned documents. Each one is a different relationship I was in. Within it lies the story of tangible evidence of the good, the bad, or the ugly.

I can’t remember why I did it. Maybe it was just my subconscious compartmentalizing what was in its rightful place. And that way making sure my present wasn’t always drowning with the past. Whatever the case, it holds emails and pictures we sent each other, long letters vowing love or the ending. I’ve always been a keeper of stories, especially the ones that never make it to paper.

So, there it was. My past. Everything that made me irrevocably loved and sometimes scarred. A digital version of it, of my heart.

I’m not saying all my boyfriends were terrible. I felt real love a time or two but the ones with the biggest files were the stories hardest to live through, where I learned the hardest lessons. So, I’d put the files in its place and I then hardly ever opened them.

The folders of boyfriend’s passed hold all spans of time even my first summer love. I was such a different person then, a naive child who knew nothing of life. But boy did I fall hard. I fell in love with him the way most people do, in between little moments that became meaningful moments. It was kismet from the moment we met. But like fireworks in the sky, it was immense and demanded to be seen and yet also fizzled quickly and never beheld again.

That’s the thing about a love like that, they never last. They’re not supposed to, they only happen during hot summer days. And yet Summer Loves are passionate. Full of mistakes and emotions, full of threats and ultimatums.

He was my first “throw everything to the wind” kind of love. He was a rebel without a cause, charming and witty, and every time he said my name it made my heart flutter without warning and without grace.

All it took was one dance. He said he’d seen me around before. And somewhere between the rhythm of the music and the laughter a bond grew between us.

At the beginning things were great, and he easily won my heart. The laughter, the kisses, the hugs and the long phone calls at night easily convinced my heart. People tried to convince me that he wasn’t the one for me, that I should stay away, that he’d only hurt me. But absolutely nothing anyone said made a difference because being with him felt so right, and sometimes I didn’t always do the things I should.

But a summer love will only last for such a while. It can even be volatile. It’s the type of love that feels like you’re in a roller coaster, the ups never last long enough before the going down hits you and throws you for a loop.

Most mornings I awoke not knowing if we were together anymore. It hurt me so when he started to distance himself. He hardly showed he cared. It was impossible to make it easy if he was always making it so hard. And as infatuated as I was, I did everything in my power to hold on. But tilt upside down on a roller coaster long enough and you’ll feel more than a rush of blood to your head.

The summer drew to its end. And with nothing tangible, I walked away leaving so many things left unsaid and he didn’t stop me.

He realized he’d never be the guy I needed, or the guy people wanted for me. He had a gypsy heart with no capacity of commitment, and love was not a word in his vocabulary. Nothing I did or said could make him change his mind.

I didn’t know what was worse being with him or being without him. I spent so many nights without sleep. Sometimes I longed for that sense of pulling me close, feeling his heartbeat against mine. But I found ways around the memories. I couldn’t hold onto what was never around. What else could I do but move on? So, since happiness can’t be found looking back, I finally went a day without thinking about him, then a week, then a month, till finally the wound was healed.

He’d chosen in stead, to change his route, go miles out of the way as if avoiding me would make it would go away once and for all. A year passed and summer came again when I heard from him. It hit him. He missed the little things. He said he missed he’d my laugh, my voice, and even the way he had to explain things twice for me to catch on. He hoped to see me, wanted to tell me how stupid he’d been, to tell me he was sorry, that he wouldn’t let go of me again. To look into my eyes and be the guy I wanted him to be. I didn’t respond.

As life will have it, we ran into each other a couple days later. I stood there dressed in red, a white flower in my hair. I smiled and looked at him and said, “How have you been? It’s so good to see you again”. He smiled back and said he’d been around. We looked into each other’s eyes both screaming inside the thing we couldn’t say. But there was another guy holding my hand. My new love led me to the dance floor. And somewhere between the rhythm of the music and the way I looked at him He realized he’d lost me. Indecision can be a burden and some ending to no beginnings are so hard to understand.

The heart isn’t a juice box, you can’t squeeze the life out of it hoping to remove all trace. So, I think of the past often, not wanting to relive it, just trying to remember the lessons it taught me. But for now, all the boys I loved will forever remain just folders that sit in my inbox, life lived, and life passed. Because sometimes putting something where it can’t touch you is easier on the heart.

Even though there are still days that I wish I could change some things that happened in the past, there is a reason why the rear view mirror is so small, and the windshield is so big. Where you are going is by far much more important than what you have left behind.