I saw your photo again, when I was looking for that red necklace I wore on our fifteenth date.
I thought I'd hidden it better than that stupid red necklace.
Turns out you're easier to find than the memory of that night, and how it felt when your fingers brushed my skin, as I held my hair up and you fastened the clasp.
I saw your photo again as I tried not to look back to what was once good.
You haven't changed much by looking at you.
But by hearing you, I know that the years weren't kind.
That the anger is no longer simmering,
that the resentment came and found the wrong person
and the hatred is now tangible in every. single. word. and in your eyes.
I saw your photo again and, this time, I threw it away.