Romantic Arson

It’s been more than 30 days since my ex’s last email. I know this for a fact because in the months following our break-up, my frustration at his refusal to stop communicating with me resulted in my not simply deleting his emails, but having them automatically filtered to Trash. In a daily moment of weakness I would check the Trash and when the final email appeared I crafted my last response and polite request to cease and desist. Emails that find their way into your Trash, which are few in the age of unlimited storage space, are automatically deleted after 30 days. Rather than just permanently delete them myself, I decided the 30 days would be a test for both him and I. My Trash is now empty…success?

Even though we are all now children of the internet age, we were raised with certain notions of romantic souvenirs. Nary a romantic comedy, sitcom, or drama is without the ritual exchange of presents between lovers. We watched after school teen queens horde scribbled love letters from their high school sweethearts, and the gentlemen of the original silver screen clutch dropped handkerchiefs of the lady that struck their fancy.

Throughout adolescence we adopt this habit of assigning extraordinary value to ordinary things. We press and dry flowers we’d have otherwise dumped. We save cards, movie stubs, and matchbooks, because they are the tangible proof that each date and milestone took place. But when everything can be more easily stored online, real love letters are all but obsolete, and space in our tiny apartments is at a premium, what happens when hearts are broken and relationships dissolve?

The tokens of affection that were exchanged and cherished in our favorite shows and movies were summarily destroyed when the relationships ended. It only took Cher Horowitz a quick click of the remote to light the gas log fire that destroyed the towel that Ty saved from Elton. Phoebe and Monica nearly burned their apartment down in their Valentines Day attempt to purge their lives of memories of former boyfriends. Even Carrie Bradshaw suggested to get rid of any photo where you look happy and he looks cute. Is physical destruction of these mementos the surest route to sanity?

I saved the little notes he wrote when we first started dating. I saved the tickets and business cards of movies we saw and restaurants we visited. For months dried roses sat on my desk at work, and the ultimate romantic gesture, a giant vase he gave me on Valentines Day remains perched atop my bookshelf. Inside were 999 tiny paper cranes he’d folded, and one additional piece of paper he asked me to write a wish on for the 1,000th. Though I don’t recall exactly what I wrote, I know I still want it to come true, even though he was not the one to grant it.

I haven’t sought to destroy these tokens of romance, and perhaps I never will. In addition to these mementos, I also starred the email that Facebook sent me to confirm when he requested that we be “in a relationship.” After blocking him on that site, and sending all his emails to trash, though it might sound strange, I felt like I’d done enough destruction. After a month of being out of touch, at a time when no one is out of reach, I feel like I’m finally ready to start again. Like a forest after a wildfire, emptying the trash has cleared the way for possibility and new growth.

Our apartments may be small, but our hearts are big, and the internet has unlimited space to store the friend requests, wall posts, bumper stickers, messages, and maybe someday the confirmation email of a relationship request that will allow the world to see we’ve found love again. It may not sound as sweet as a sonnet, or glint as bright as a diamond, but our inbox charts the progression of our romantic lives as sentimentally as a shoebox of post-marked letters. We’re just lucky that if scorn incites the urge to destroy, we are far less likely to be convicted of arson.

Appeared originally on 8/19/2008 at http://www.homo-neurotic.com/