Burden of Sentiment

I printed off the proof of our correspondence on copper tinted parchment paper. I was making a book documenting the affair Kris and I had last spring. The pages stacked up quickly, eating all of the blackened ink in my printer. Page after page of desperate emails whose poetic, grandiose words clung to one another. I photocopied all of her poems and notes and lists she wrote in her stick figure style of handwriting. I copied the covers of pamphlets and liner notes from our favorite bands that she gave me. I neatly stacked everything that could be replicated from our past and spent all night putting them in order chronologically.

I wanted to re-read them, but the burden of sentiment felt smothering. So I pushed our emaciated romance onto slips of paper. I tied them all up with shiny, holiday ribbons and sent them to her instead.