My ex came over with the rest of my stuff.  I thought it would make not thinking about him possible.  The sly bastard- I mean that in the most introverted loving way… left a torturous industrial sized container of NesQuik.

“I don’t drink that anymore.”  He said, kindly, as if it were of some vindication to me that the man I once loved irrationally- if that is tangible (love is unconditional to me)- was going to disappear from the face of the earth after leaving me a bunch of preservatives and chemicals to mix into my mucus ridden milk.

He said goodbye, as if I’d see him soon again.  That was laughable.  Humorous.  If he could not return something as simple as an e-mail…  if I had to reach out to other people just to get in touch with him to get my shit back…

But hey, hey!  I should not fret, for he is free as a bird and for that I should be happy, or at least bitter-sweet.  It feels as if the bitter has overridden the sweet here. sometimes.

I suppose it is also a matter of respect.  There is none behind his ways.  I am a trampled flower to him, unworthy of bending over for again.

That asshole.  I’m drinking his fucking poison now.