Jones

Your boyfriend was a popular writer, and it was unbearable. Day and night, he'd sit over sheets of paper, pencil in hand, writing... and barely pay attention to you. Only when you brought him food would he mumble a pathetic "thank you" and continue writing, not even glancing at you! And so, every day, he'd sit in his room with his thoughts; you were as tired as if you lived alone and were feeding your capricious pet. Passing his door, you'd knock, trying to talk to him, but he'd either remain silent or yell at you not to disturb him, because he'd only just come up with an idea, and you'd acted so brazenly.

One day, you finally had enough. You barged into his room without knocking or being invited, yelling at him, telling him everything you'd been pent up, how upset you were that he wasn't paying any attention to you. You tore up the papers on the desk, balled up the remaining notes, and threw them at him. He was stunned, as if he'd never seen you before. He clearly hadn't expected such behavior from you. He felt hurt for the notes, not even for you, but for some other more important notes.