Quite a few Valentine days ago, I gave my husband (now my soon-to-be ex) a hot chocolate gift set that contained two mugs and four packets of hot chocolate mix. At the time he enjoyed having a hot drink with me every now and then, and I thought the mugs were cute to use together. We shared a couple of drinks together using those mugs.
When I was packing his dishes and some other stuff I thought he would use/need after we separated, I debated over sending the mugs. They were his, of course, because they'd been a gift. But knowing him I assumed he would trash them. If I sent one he may not remember where it came from and use it anyway.
So, I kept one.
Sometimes I open the cabinet to grab my favorite mug - a giant yellow, flower-covered one - and it isn't there. It, of course, is dirty or buried in a sea of clean dishes. My hand hoovers over the one with the hearts encircling its lip. Sometimes I touch or hold it, occasional I move it over or back, there are times I have used it and other times that I just stare at it.
It's a weird set of feelings. Not necessarily pain, love or regret. Maybe it's a combination of thoughts and memories that flood my brain so quickly that they're gone in just a second. Causing confusion. Apathy. Regret. And, often, a total shut down.
Maybe I should dispose of it; maybe someday I will. For now I keep it as a reminder of everything I've learned over the past 10 years. A note to myself not to repeat the same mistakes. One day it will cease to be a symbol of a failed marriage and destroyed dreams, and it will return to being just a mug.