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Moving can be bittersweet. Especially in moments of true terror that I'm leaving. No matter who the person is you're leaving, a lot of times it's the stuff you worry about securing and taking with you and the stuff you're concerned with going through and leaving behind. And the going through of the stuff is what brings you to moments of we did that, then. Finding evidence of the trails of feats and failures. You find yourself in the midst of an unannounced photo album in the form of old receipts, mailed materials, cards et etc. In the midst of my bittersweet dash to rummage through and destroy the evidence, before my eyes, that this marriage even existed (honestly that's how I feel at this point,) is the below.
A phoenix of a moment in time ten years ago in the backyard of my house at 17 years of age. A time when my mother was still alive, my father was not, in fact, the man of the house (my aunt truly was) and in defiance, planted emasculating roses gardens one after another. It's a sink in the middle of a raspberry garden. I  took this photo as a part of my high school photography class. I took it, in reality because I was amazed at the whys of anyone putting a porcelain sink in their backyard, in the middle of an overgrown raspberry garden, kept there for years. This was my first attempt at developing my own images, and I used too much of a chemical in the development process (fixer I think,) and that's why it's so yellow, not because of age. In fact, it looked like that two days after development. I'm grateful that I found this, out of all of this....

Things I really do have to remind myself of at times

I want to get something off my chest. You're a guy. I'm a girl. There is a thing called sexual attraction between us, possibly. This could happen because you have a penis and I have a vagina. Big, nasty words mom and dad forbade us from saying at a young age. Thing is, we're no longer that young anymore. We're us. We're twenty, thirty, forty, etc. And we have a brain that works for us now, not some sub servant bystander that takes the hits because in the end of the day someone else pays our bills. No, we're our responsibility now.
But lets get back to us having vaginas and penises. It's straight up biology. We own them. They're ours. They may or may not be the culprit to many of the crimes that have been committed against our hearts and the crimes we have committed against the hearts of others. But what it all comes down to is  what differentiates us from apes, the ability for us to think these things through. The ability for us to have the knowledge that things may or may not be right when working strictly with a primordial mind.
Things may become ugly, in fact. Things may turn out for the worse. Things may feel good. Oh yes! Things may feel good! But what happens in the end of the day is what every other part of our body has to live with after. Our liver, our kidneys, our lungs and our brains. They're the ones that matter in all this, not our respective reproductive anatomy. They're the surviving members that reach out to us to tell us whether or not we've done wrong or right by last nights 3AM binge and later.. fun.... So it may be fine and dandy to make fun of  the ability to use these pieces of anatomy to make decisions for us .. but we all know that the deer in the headlights became they least attractive look after the age of say... yeah... eighteen.