Snowflakes

Put all I am into a box—
And what would I have?

          Confusion.

Groping around, as if I were blind.
Arms prostrate, fingers able but in search
Of some elusive beast.

          Or a hidden treasure.

Images, painted in my mind of daffodils,
Delicately dancing out of a Wordsworth poem.
But, if I am blind,

          How vast is the daffodil?

As tires spin around the pavement—
Leaving their stationary mark;
I spin. With impunity, leaving my mark.

          Going nowhere.

A glance resounds like the thunder, or church bells.
Do I need someone, to define who I am?
Would they be better equipped—

          More capable?

Or is my definition in who they are?
To melt myself away,
Like snowflakes

          In a childhood memory.

I had to stop counting...

I had my amazing husband take me to Bed Bath & Beyond last night to get one of those over-the-door purse organizers. I thought it was sufficient to get only one, which held 16 purses. I think I was in denial. When we got home, Aaron did man work and put the thing together while I sat down infront of the closet going through my bags. We quickly filled the organizer and to my disbelief, I had a lot remaining to be hung up. My sweet husband didn't say much, he just nodded when I said "I think I have more then twenty". He told me that we can get another organizer and put it on the hall closet door. I haven't told him yet that when I got to thirty, I stopped counting altogether...no wonder when I see a cute bag I want to buy he distracts me from it.

My insecurity, I guess...

I was watching one of those morning shows the other day and the topic was a debate on how should you accept the relics of your partners past relationships. On one side was the mindset that if your married, then both you and your partner ought to toss out the old love letters and such, creating room for each other. On the other hand, the ruling majority said that was unacceptable. Their question was: how can you possible ask, or demand that your husband/wife throw out pieces of themselves to appease your insecurities.
How I see it, when I was being first wooed by my husband, I went through my boxes, my photos and computer files in attempt to delete my past mistakes (relationships), praying that I could delete the memories too. And after we were married and I was settling in, I did it nervously because I still feared I had missed something, somewhere. I did this, not so much for my husband but for myself. You see, I was and am still ashamed and deeply grieved for giving all of who I was to someone who couldn't love me, because I wasn't purposed for them. They were not the husband that God had made for me and I for them. So to me, the idea of a husband or wife still clinging onto, and avoiding throwing out those love notes and such is a shame and a dishonor to their spouse, whose heart no doubtably breaks every time they come across photos or pieces of paper lamenting over their spouses love for someone else and their deep desire to marry them.