I'm sorry, but this isn't working out. We're not working out.
It hasn't felt right for a long time now, and I want to be fair to you and tell you the truth about how I feel. Dragging this out because I'm afraid of talking about it, or because I don't want to hurt your feelings would be the worst thing to do.
I guess I've been feeling this way for some time now. The signs have all been there and I guess I'm only confronting them now.
There was the time you asked me to trip a girl scout so you could help her up and score a box of free cookies. How you drunk dial my sister after too much wine, even though she's sitting at the same table right across from you. And the fact that I spend my Friday nights alone while you and the guys see how many Fritos you can fit in your nose is one thing, but while that was funny when we were in college, doing that at my grandmother's funeral 5 years later was simply embarrassing.
The passion is waning, unlike the taste of that cave aged Gruyere we tasted in the Swiss Alps when things were good. Its musky scent and creamy, ivory color were so reminiscent of the pure but animal attraction that once existed between us.
And while our love was once complex like that Gruyere's, owing to its use of raw sheep's milk, it's now flat and tepid. That cheese eclipsed "us" with deep toasted and meaty flavors. A tang that's more like a twang, a dialect that has passion and character like we once did when we whispered to each other in bed.
I want to be in a perfect pair the way that cheese was for those strong olives and fig jam we had when we stayed up late talking about our future. Now you don't even take my hand or listen to me. We're two separate people now rather than a unit like a couple should be.
I want a connection that pops like the lactic crystals embedded in that tightly bound and dense Gruyere. I want a relationship where we try new things like cave aged Gruyere grilled cheese sandwiches with caramelized onions and jam on sourdough bread; or making a fondue with the Gruyere mixed with some Emmenthaler, mustard, white wine, and caramelized shallots with a hint of nutmeg.
Please don't contact me. I'll talk to you when I'm ready.
I will be at my mother's. She has crackers.