As part of my post breakup healing, I deleted all of the photos and videos of my ex. I'm pretty sure it was one of the first things I did in that post-nuclear fallout drunken haze. Every photo was removed from Instagram. Every post that had anything to do with him was purged from Facebook. Every happy tweet was eradicated from Twitter. Every video of him air drumming along with our favorite songs was eliminated from Vine. Not only was social media wiped clean, but I removed them from every place I had saved them. Nothing remained as evidence that we were once a couple.
...or so I thought.
Yesterday, at the height of my boredom, I stumbled across the last place that had any photographic piece of us left. There, starring back at me, were some of my favorite photos of us. It completely knocked the wind out of me, and I cried for the first time in a long while. Not a few tears, no...deep, wracking, painful tears. My first instinct was to delete and not look back. Something wouldn't let me though. I made myself look at them...and remember how crazy (stupidly) in love I was. I loved him with everything I had. Heart, body, soul, mind. I think you can tell how crazy I was about him by just looking at the photos. They're silly and fun...and that's what I thought we were: Silly, fun, happy, and in love. I didn't know I was by myself in those feelings.
I can't delete them. They are like a punch in the gut every time I look at them...but I can't part with them. Not yet anyway...