Here’s a story of the many physical, emotional, symbolic or esoteric things I carry. Some have value others don’t. Sometimes I’ll tell you, sometimes I won’t.
I love everything about this photo so I’ve kept it. I hate everything this photo so I’ve hidden it.
I love the moment of the experience. I can see the moment in my minds eye whenever I feel reflective: the experience, romance, passion, submission and love shared between one soul to another loving, beautiful soul. I know precisely when and where it was taken. I know why it was taken.
The bohemian, romantic, hedonistic idealist poet in me loves everything about this photo.
I hate the knowledge of the experience. I can see the moment in my minds eye whenever I’m honest: the betrayal, lies, shame, remorse, pain and damage done by one soul to other beautiful, loving souls. I know precisely when and where I should have been when this was taken.
The principled, pragmatic, honest loving husband in me hates everything about this photo.
A man cannot live fully of two hearts.
Outside of knowledge of who I am, hanging onto this photo has no value.