So the stereotypical box of stuff was hardly as dramatic as you would expect. It felt normal, appropriate, and not cliche in the least. I needed my stuff, so you know, I had to come get it. And it just made sense for him to put it in a box, so I could carry it all out the the car in one trip. There was nothing wrong with this box.
It was more the idea of him cleaning his room and gathering everything of mine that didn't belong there anymore. Everything of me that he had could fit into that box, and he had to put it all there himself, maybe thinking about how he wouldn't ever seen these things again, and I wouldn't have toothbrush behind the bathroom mirror anymore, or leave makeup powder in the sink or any underwear on the floor. I feel the pain of the symbolism now, even if it didn't hit me until I was driving home.
:(
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