Things are put in an attic for good reason. Items we save and diligently store, are just pawns. They are merely extensions of our feelings. Once discovered, we are weighed down again, and forced to remember a time and a place where we once stood. A way that we once felt. A time we had long forgotten.
Yea, I found our honeymoon journals. Apparently, even back in 1995, I was writing it all down.
These handwritten journals, start with our departure from the Philadelphia airport and follow the 7-day journey of two naive newlyweds to Saint Lucia. Just two young kids, who got married, and were trying to act like grown-ups, drinking fancy umbrella drinks, on the white sandy beach, all day. One of us, clearly a budding writer, capturing it all.
Both of us, in our mid-twenties, had pulled off a beautiful wedding, and now were enjoying a once-in-a-lifetime trip in paradise. Our days were spent, getting too much sun, taking afternoon naps, and talking about returning, one day, with our kids, whomever they might be.
Me, and my French-manicured nails spent countless hours perfecting my new signature and adapting to my new last name. We had our lives before us, and this little trip was just the beginning. The beginning of making memories, taking photos, and storing them all in the attic.