Dear Moronic Ex-Boyfriend,

I meant every word I said last week about never asking me to get back with you again, especially the part where you said you were thinking about how to avoid that, and I said "Well, don't kiss me, for one thing, because apparently I'm just that good." I know I said I was kidding, but I totally wasn't. You have some nerve acting like I want you back when you were the one who went from wanting to be "just friends" on a Friday to "Let's date" on a Sunday back in February after I let you kiss me. Our makeout session was just nostalgic to me, but apparently it meant much more to you, since you kept after me until I agreed to get with you, again -- a disastrous four-month relationship that ended, just like I suspected it would, with me getting my heart crushed. Again. Damn you for tricking me into believing you that you actually liked me, when the truth was that I'm just a really effing good kisser.
Have fun in counseling, sucker, because the only good thing this rerun of a relationship did was land your ass squarely where it has always belonged: on a psychiatrist's couch.

Liked you in spite of your kissing skills, not because of them,

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