You're my ex. As in "X-ed out," former, no longer a part of. I have no responsibility to you, and you none to me. I have no rights to your emotions, thoughts, or actions. Your reasons are your own, as is your life. As is mine. It is my own. I have no conenction to you any longer. I'm more than accepting of this situation.

So why do I still feel so protective of you? Why does it bother me when you're unhappy? Why do I feel the need to swoop in and save you when things in your life look rough?

I'm not jealous that you've moved on. I'm jealous that it's so easy for you to come to me as a friend, when I'm still fighting to remove myself from the tangle that linked our pasts. I'm not longing for what we had, I'm just confused as to how this came to be. We went from friends to dating to hating each other to falling out of touch. Your existance in my world dwindled and shrank and I pushed you to the corner of my mind, next to appreciating blues music and filing my taxes. You were present, but only surfaced in specific and warranted cirumstances. Now you're ever-present. We chat, we talk. You seek my advice, my company. And my brain has yet to re-wire itself to this making sense.

When did this become acceptable? I was hurt by you, several times, and I admit that I hurt you too. But many of those painful issues were left unresolved, and without closure. Granted, "moving on in life" means letting go of those hurts for the sake of something better, but scars happen. The memories are there, and while I may not harbor personal resentment for those scars, when you suddenly resurface in my life all that hurt bubbles up with you. It's unsettling.

I guess I'm waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. My brain hasn't made the connection that just because my affiliation with you caused me pain once is not proof that it will surely happen again.