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I looked at an old picture of me and my ex today. It's funny how much hatred can be stirred up by a little blurry photograph with bad lighting. My arms were wrapped around his neck, not in the violent way that they would be these days. I feel stupid for ever being with him, and I don't like to feel stupid. I don't like to feel trapped. Those were two things he was very good at making me feel, so it's no wonder I had to leave him. It felt good to make him cry every time I tried to break his heart. After he ripped my insides to pieces and made me want to die he sure deserved it. I don't think he saw it that way, he thought he deserved to keep me. That's all he ever wanted, to keep me in a little box and take me out to play whenever it was convenient. As the months passed, convenient times were less convenient for me and we grew apart but spent the same amount of time together. I was bored, I was hurt, and so I broke his heart. He was a resilient fucker, though, wouldn't stop harassing me until I threatened him with a restraining order. Sometimes love turns out that way, both of you alone and hurt and not quite sure if you'll ever be whole again.