This week I will secretly make another PostSecret postcard. I have it planned out in my head. It will say "I love you." That's my secret.
And tomorrow. I'm not sure. T-o-m-o-r-r-o-w. Maybe it'll be promising. Probably not. I can't say for sure. Maybe I don't want to know. Maybe it'll be horrid. Maybe I'm exaggerating this too much? And just maybe I'm overusing the word "maybe". Perhaps I should stop with the 'maybe's'. And I will. But yes, I can't see the future.
But I can see the past.
And by walking into a little time capsule, I know where I belong.
My great-grandparents' house. It's wood-paneled. It's old. It smells like old people and must. It's always smelled that way, I can remember. It's been so long since I've been there. Before today, the las time I'd been there the miniature cigar store indian in the living room was about as tall as me. It's been awhile. But I could've stayed there ford days. Looking through boxes, trunks, chests. I could've spent an entire day looking through the yearbooks on the sitting room shelf alone. It was odd. So much stuff. So much old stuff. I love it. I want to just leaf through it all. Breathe in that funky old smell. Ask about all the people in the photographs. I want to hear the stories behind each thing.
But I'll probably never have that chance. It dawned on me that the only time I'll probably ever be able to dig through that treasure trove is when both of my great-grandparents have passed. The thought made my stomach turn. I actually teared up. I can't handle that. I need them living, I need to know that their stories are still alive. I need to know they're there. In the little white house in Roundhead that hasn't changed since the 1970's. I need that pice of living nostalgia.
Maybe someday soon I'll grasp the opportunity and visit them. And look through the photos. And ask about all of the things on the shelves. Hopefully.
That last blog post? I thought I'd regret it.
I don't.
So maybe someday (again with the maybe's) he can love me. I doubt this greatly. He's older then me. He's with someone. He's unreachable. But maybe someday I'll be able to at least work up the guts to say I have the most monstrous crush in the world. Because, yes. I love him. I want him to read this and understand. But he won't. I dare not mention his name. It's too awkward.
So for now.
An "I love you". To the anonymous guy that is out of my reach.
Goodnight.
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