I disappeared again. And for that, I am incredibly sorry. For once in my life, I was busy with work. Yes, I know what you’re thinking; I still could have found the time to blog. But, my answer to that is as follows: There’s only so much one person can do, and only so much bullshit one can conjure up within lengthy blog posts.
So, I may not be on here as frequently as I would like, but I hope to be better. I will desperately try to get back into the swing of things, to get back into the swing of life.
So, the above picture contains my most treasured possessions. Yes, they may collect dust from time to time, but all that matters is I know they’re always there, only a reach away. This watch belonged to my beloved Granddad. I have held onto this watch for many, many years. I don’t wear it, as I always worry I might misplace it somehow. It means a lot to me, so if I ever lost it, it would break my heart. Every so often I try it on, and I smile. I smile knowing that my Granddad’s wrist was once within these frail, dainty straps. What once was his, is now mine. The ring that appears in this image, was gifted to me by my Nana. I cannot remember why I received this mood ring, but all I know is I never wanted to let it go, and still to this day, I refuse to do so. I suppose, when the people you love have passed on, you hold on dearly to anything they gave you, or owned, because in all honesty, it’s all you have left of them, in a physical sense. Yes, they’re always with you spiritually, but having a physical object they once admired with their own eyes, touched with their own hands, can truly warm your heart and reassure you, that somehow they’re still with you. I suppose, I treasure them more than any little possession. Treasuring memories is just as important.
Apologies for the long winded post, I have missed doing this. It is quite therapeutic, and good for the soul.
I hope you’re keeping well, and still appreciate a little bit of long winded, sappy, sarcastic, bullshit infused posts.
‘When someone you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure.’