The House

I walk towards a house, a house with a lot of memories and a lot of pain attached to those memories. Behind me in a leopard print suitcase that has already raised a few humorous comments from the friend that accompanies me on this walk, along the lines of 'I hope we don't get punched for being chavs thanks to your suitcase' and more of a similar ilk. I laugh but I'm secretly thinking 'you are wrong. Leopard print is the best' (because she is and it is. Burberry is chav maybe, leopard print is barmaids and b-movies). As we walk closer to the house the discussion becomes about where I was in my life the last time I walked this route and the events that have occured in my life subsequently.
'He broke my heart but then I got a clue'
'Yeah'
'Well, no, then I got an alcoholic who was married and THEN I got a clue'
'Well... yeah'
'But the point is I eventually got that clue'
'That's the important thing'
'After being destroyed completely I found that clue hidden under months of therapy. Tricksy clues'

And we laugh and it's all very jovial and haha, isn't my love life tragic, type stuff but under the laughter and the jokes is this very real 'ow, this all still hurts' feeling and this other 'oh my god I can finally at least pretend to joke about this stuff' that jostles for prominance. The current occupier of the house is one of the causes for the stabby heart feelings I'm experiencing but I'm not sure how I'm going to respond to the site of all the heartache I've dealt with there. Like some kind of muscle memory maybe I'll feel the feelings for the heartbreaker, or maybe those experiences still haunt the house like ghosts and it will just take me being in that time and space to awaken them into existing again at which point they will destroy me once and for all. Who knows? The other feeling I have is relief, relief he won't actually be there, relief I'm pleased he won't be there (which is more important in more complex ways), relief that the person who got her heart broken those many many moons ago no longer exists in this dimension. Where she went to, I'm not sure but she isn't me anymore. Where did she go to now I think of it? Does she still exist? Is she biding her time before making an impromptue return? Has she been assimilated into this current being? What happens to the past versions of ourselves, do they remain in the past? Are they accesible in the present? Do they inform the future?

We turn a corner and there is the house. Onwards and upwards is the only way to find out.