What was ever left behind?

Sometimes I read your blog and realize you're actually talking about me and the damage that I had done. But in my defense, I didn't leave you just with cuts and bruises, an empty bedroom and ash from my cigarettes. I can see just in your thoughts how much you have grown from your taste in music, your ideology, even to the way you wear your hair. I take partial credit for that. You were my dear experiment, my most precious lover.

I always think of you, miss you, and your stupid old dog.