What’s hers?

What’s mine?

What’s ours?

What memories do I want to forget?

What memories do I want to remember?

What am I allowed to keep?

What will make my next relationship uncomfortable because I keep things from my past?

Should I care about that? I mean it IS me, you know? The sum of all my parts and all.

These are questions that I’m pondering as I pack up what’s left of my house and move into the next chapter of my life. You know how it goes. You find things long forgotten in a box somewhere or hanging on the wall of the guest room. Sure you haven’t seen these things in a bit but when you do, it just invokes some feeling. It could be sadness. It could be joy. It could be… It could be anything. It doesn’t mean you’re holding on to relationships past. It’s just memories. It’s just smiles and we could all use more smiles. (Hell, it wasn’t all bad.)

So, what’s the etiquette? Should that matter? Fuck, I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out as I go on through my/ hers/ our stuff.