Raw is War

The oddest thing that kicks me in the heart nowadays is Monday Night Raw. I can't watch it anymore.
It use to be a bonding experience with me and BF and whoever else wandered in at the dorm--we'd turn on the common room TV and settle on the Flip and Freak (pullout couch + door that locks + coed dorm = yes, people have been caught) and I'd pay more attention to BF's chest or shoulder than to whatever the hell John Cena or Randy Orton were up to.
Oof.
His breath would smell like Cherry Coke Zero and ranch dip. He'd fiddle around on his iPhone and answer whatever questions we had about the match or the wrestlers. We'd yell, "Kinky!" to highlight the homoerotic moves, BF would revoke our speaking priviledges, and now it's all gone.
Monday Night Raw was a big part of our origin story, and now it's all gone.
Fucking Santino Marella makes me weepy now, because I notice he's wearing a new shirt and I wonder what BF thinks about it before I remember, oh wait. I shouldn't care.
Monday nights are the worst. I'm calling it. At least Fridays have distractions that don't remind me of him.