He's the one that screwed me up, fucked me over, broke me and the one that put me back together multiple times. Not really in that order. And now... I'd like to think we're friends. A particular kind of friends. The kind you don't really talk to anymore unless he's drunk-dialing. The kind who shows up unexpectedly when you least expect it and messes up everything, just when you finally thought you had it all figured out. The kind you'd like to leave in the past, but always end up bringing up.
Stupid ex boyfriends. Sometimes I think I'll never date again, so I'll never ever have another ex boyfriend to worry about. I'll live as a nun.
If you're reading this, I've moved on. Don't bring me back. Once again. And I'd like to say we'll be friends, but I'm not one to lie to you, so here is the truth people know but are afraid to say: We won't hang out, we won't spend our birthdays together, we won't have lunch. We'll be friends, because with our history we can't be less, but in name only.
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