While trawling through some old stuff today I discovered a couple of things. Firstly, I have contrived to lose two of my favourite and most sentimentally valuable t-shirts, and secondly, I found some old notes from ex-girlfriends from a while ago.
Being the masochist that I am I decided to sit down and read them. They brought back some memories, mostly good, a couple more uncomfortable ones. What they did not bring back was a sense of real emotional connection. By that I don't mean that I cannot remember what I used to feel like - associating feelings with times, sounds or events is how most of my memories are stored in the dark recesses of my brain. What I could not connect with, and could not remember, was being the person to whom anyone would write these things.
I know as time passes people change, and I am aware that I have changed over the last few years, but it was a strange sensation not being able to feel that anything I was reading was intended for me. It is a peculiar feeling when you notice that in the space of a few years your self-perception has changed so much that you read things once meant for you, and feel as if you are reading words intended for an entirely different person, and feel as if you have invaded their privacy.