I'm not going to throw away the things you gave me. I'm saving every last present. The drawings, the shirts, and everything. The most important thing I'm going to save is the book you made for me for our first Christmas. Throwing that away would be criminal.

But I can't bring myself to look at any of it either. It's still too painful. So I'll put everything in a big box. And I'll hide that box away in a safe place where I won't see it unless I want to.

So in case you were wondering, which you probably weren't, your presents to me are safe, and they always will be. In a way, they're like my feelings for you. I'm not going to stop loving you, but I have to pack that part of my heart away so I don't think about it, because it's still too painful.

2 and a half years got me a phone call break-up and a stern talking to from the dean of academic affairs.

 So to summarize: pain and humiliation.

The sum of 2 and a half years is to be treated like we were nothing. Like I hadn't just spent all that time planning a life with someone.

Thy voice is on the rolling air;
  I hear thee where the waters run;
  Thou standest in the rising sun,
And in the setting thou art fair.

What art thou then? I cannot guess;
  But tho’ I seem in star and flower
  To feel thee some diffusive power,
I do not therefore love thee less:

My love involves the love before;
  My love is vaster passion now;
  Tho’ mix’d with God and Nature thou,
I seem to love thee more and more.

Far off thou art, but ever nigh;
  I have thee still, and I rejoice;
  I prosper, circled with thy voice;
I shall not lose thee tho’ I die.

-Tennyson,"Memoriam" 

Be near me when my light is low,

When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick

And tingle; and the heart is sick,

And all the wheels of Being slow.

 

Be near me when the sensuous frame

Is rack’d with pangs that conquer trust;

And Time, a maniac scattering dust,

And Life, a Fury slinging flame. 

 

Be near me when my faith is dry,

And men the flies of latter spring,

That lay their eggs, and sting and sing

And weave their petty cells and die. 

 

Be near me when I fade away,

To point the term of human strife,

And on the low dark verge of life

The twilight of eternal day. 

 

-Alfred, Lord Tennyson. "In Memoriam" continued

Oh, yet we trust that somehow good
      Will be the final goal of ill,
      To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet;
      That not one life shall be destroy'd,
      Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain;
      That not a moth with vain desire
      Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.

Behold, we know not anything;
      I can but trust that good shall fall
      At last — far off — at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream: but what am I?
      An infant crying in the night:
      An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.

-Alfred, Lord tennyson. "In Memoriam"