Limbo lessons...Going Cheap...

Just before the turn of the millennium I got rid of everything that held me to any days gone before. High school yearbooks, an old Bible given to me as a child, pictures, memories I thought if pertinent enough would remain without physical representation. "Behold the new life" I thought to myself and have had moments of regret but the pertinent matters do find their way back. I kept photos given to me by my mother and journals of long journeys. Journals and journals of journeys. Writing down the times and places for evermore days to come. There is a beat up 1920's era steamer trunk in storage full of scrawls and scribbles, doodles and words that hold the most sanctified moments of my life up until the time I moved into my new home. Writing in terminally private books ceased then and my lover's head became my journal of journeys. Whether he remembers the details and the perceptions isn't known to me but they are going somewhere. I watched him last night writing lyrics, fantastically passionate he was, completely enveloped and I thought "I'll remember this for you always."
Since the end of the journals and the coming of the lover something new has arrived. A sanity. As spastic and energetic as he is, as off the lid as he gets his soul and my welcome into it comes with the calmest, most serene headspace I have ever known. Somedays I start to pull out the steamer trunk and reflect through the journals of journeys but I halt not willing to trade in the place and time of now for any that have gone before. Some other day... I do believe that trunk will remain untouched until some future where I am old and no longer affected by the sorrows and strains of human endeavor that lie within it.
Someday when I'm old I'll open it to a dank musty smell, flick away the paper bugs nurtured by it and probably cry at how hard that girl tried to understand what seems so easy in retrospect. As often as I have planned to organize and create a new story from that trunk it has a life of its own and it simply isn't ready yet.
It strikes me that the girl represented in that trunk so often yearned for limbo, for life to slow down enough to have pause to reflect. Here you go girl, sweet limbo.