This is slightly insidious to me, but sometimes I still love him.

Or, at least I think and feel that I do at odd times here and there.

Mostly, I just wrestle with the unsolicited memories of who he actually was, but some days he’s the only person I want to be curled up in bed with. It’s not very healthy, so I don’t indulge for long, and I’m actually much better without him.

For context, I left over a year ago. It’s a very strange experience and I do not like it.