It’s over between us.
I know I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it. I went to the doctor last week and he confirmed my worst fear ― your love is killing me.
We’ve had some amazing times, chocolate. I remember my very first Kiss® at the age of four - even in those tender years, I knew you were the one for me. I think back on our school day trysts, deftly peeling back your wrapper, muffling the sound with my own heavy breathing. I remember hiding you in a drawer as I heard mother’s footsteps in the hall, my heart pounding with the fear of being caught, my blood boiling with the torment of delayed gratification.
How blissful it was when I left home! At last, I could be yours fully. I loved the soft, warm liquid of you in the mornings, I savored you on strawberries, adored you wrapped around peanut butter and caramel. I lived for those special nights when you adorned yourself in the richest ganache ― you looked too beautiful to eat . . . almost.
God! The way you used to look at me, with those gooey brown eyes! The things you used to make me do! Do you remember the night of my company Christmas party when I took out the entire chocolate fountain in my ecstasy? Oh, my love, I was a slave to you!
The doctor tells me my arteries are thick with you ― our torrid love affair is written all over my body. I blush that he knows our secret ― you are so much a part of me.
I’ve promised my loved ones that I will give you up, and I must! I must choose to live for their sakes. But what kind of a life will it be without you?
Please, chocolate, if you love me at all, you’ll leave me without a trace. No dramatic billboard goodbyes, no flirtations from office candy bowls. Leave me before it’s too late. I fear I don’t have the strength.