There is a website called “The Saddest Thing I Own,” where people are invited:
“…to share the saddest thing they own. What are these sad things? What makes things sad? Do things start off sad? Do some sad things begin as happy things that then become sad? Are some things only sad because for some sad reason we kept them? Are some things just plain sad no matter what? This is what we want to know.”
The very first post I read there started out as follows:
The emotional aftermath of the breakup was horrible enough, but he also felt it necessary to burn my house down. Some guys just like to make their point a little more flamboyantly than others apparently. My young son and I were left with literally nothing. Everything we owned; all our memories and all our physical possessions, all my writings and research, and all his stuffed animals and sketchbooks were vaporized in the total fire. When we drove up to see the smoking ruins we were both almost pathologically concerned about how we would react to the loss. We took each other’s hand and I could feel us both trembling with worry for the other.
Read the entire entry here. Most of the entries at the site are quite poignant.
–Ann Bartow
