How dare she be beautiful in that picture
Laughing, arms raised to the falling snow
Wearing those sweatpants I hated.
In most photos, she looks every part the
Trashy, classless, misanthropic shrew
That I discovered in my bed.
She used me and cast me aside,
And I resent her for good reason.

But sometimes,

There is a pure moment
And she resembles the
Witty, vital, fearless Valkyrie
That I fell for.
How dare she remind me how it felt
When she was mine.