Today I shipped N a box of his belongings that had been left in my possession. It had taken me a minute to collect these things (long story), but I had finally gathered the hodgepodge assortment. Each item was an artifact from our relationship – a strange relic that, at one point, had meaning and purpose. Now, the package looked like a sad collection of random bounty from a 20-something year old’s bachelor pad. Truth be told, I was glad to get rid of N’s things and sever ties.
As I meticulously secured the box with packing tape, my head began to swirl with questions. These questions stemmed from a place of pure curiousity, not self-pity or sadness. For a brief moment, I wondered: Did N miss me? Does he ever think of me? Did he even really care about me in the first place, or was I simply a temporary companion? The funny thing is, I’ll never know. And, I don’t want to know. N is somewhat of an enigma; his entire outlook on relationships is a big unanswered question, just like all of mine.
I purposefully strolled into the post office with N’s box in hand. As I watched the USPS employee carry the package into the back shipping room, I was flooded with a sense of relief. The box would soon disappear into one of the many large sorting bins and travel 30 miles to N’s doorstep. And I knew all of my unanswered questions would finally travel away too, never to be thought of again.