It has been a year and a half since our break-up. You; overweight, pale, sullen looking and still working the same lame job you wanted to leave so badly so you could make all these “positive changes.” You still chronically smoke weed and have stayed in the same dead-end job. This is a bitch, but it's also a frustration. Why would you not take care of yourself to, you know, spite me? Better yourself, help yourself, better your future. Yada yada yada. I don't pretend to know everything about your, what appears to be, miserable existence. You could be quite content. Perhaps that is happy to you. Thank you for all of the lessons. The screaming, the verbal abuse, the emotional abuse, the lying, cheating, games, childish behaviors...Letting me go was the best thing for me—wasn't it suppose to be for you, too? —Why