I figure our relationship is like a jar of peanut butter.
When we first started out, I was willing to share. I gave you half my peanut butter, I think you enjoyed it. But I didn't feel like your pallet matched my taste. So I closed the jar. I said, no more peanut butter. You were completely hung up on its taste. You craved it, couldn't forget it, couldn't see that on the store shelf there are many other jars of peanut butter. You kept coming back for more. But I wasn't sharing anymore. You began digging your cold, wet spoon into me and helping yourself to spoonfuls of my goodness, and it hurt. I asked you to stop, but I guess I didn't tell you to stop. I just kept letting you, spoon after spoon. Less and less and less. You took it all from me, leaving me empty.
I have nothing left for you. I stopped inviting you in a long time ago, but you broke down the door and sucked everything out. And yet you still want more! You still crave it, remember it, strive for it in so many of the wrong ways. Had you left some peanut butter in my jar, we could have had something to work with. But you emptied me, pushed me over the edge, past the point of no return.
It must hurt, coming so often expecting peanut butter but finding the jar empty. So please leave me to collect my contents, so I can offer it again. Please don't take what I'm not giving you.
Please check aisle 5, with the canned food and the preserves.
