We've been together a long time. My mom says you may have honed in on me even before I was born. We've had some great times and been to some great places. I've met you in pies and cookies and lately, some really fabulous handmade caramels.
Here's the thing, though. It's been almost 37 years and I've realized that no matter how much I'm into you, you're never going to love me back. I don't say this to hurt you - not that I think you'd care if I did - but I'm thinking that makes you a bad boyfriend. You might not be doing it on purpose, but you've been hurting me.
You're making me fat, honestly, and ashamed of myself. After I hang out with you I have a harder time being nice to the people who do love me back. Recently I found out that all this time you've been cutting me up inside, literally, scraping my artery walls so it's easier for plaque to hang out there. Dude, that's gross. Everybody knows you're not good for my teeth. You wear me down and make it easier for me to get sick. Also, I can't prove it, but I think the adult acne might be your fault.
So I think this means I'm breaking up with you. I know you'll be all cool about it and say "let's be friends" and stuff, but I just can't. At least not until I'm over you, and that might take a while. Maybe like a year. So I'm not going to be seeing you anymore for at least that long. Period. I may occasionally get together with your cousins Agave and Honey, in a cup of tea or on a pancake or something. And you know I cannot quit hanging with that gorgeous natural beauty, Fructose. But you, I have to let go.
If you see me in a dark chocolate bar every now and then, just turn the other way. I will not acknowledge you. I'm just there for the antioxidants.