Dear Muffin,

You sit there – tantalizing – on the table before me, sending waves of chocolatey bliss rolling in to crash against my quivering nose. Even the slightest whiff of your delicious aroma sends me into a frenzy of joy. You are absolutely resplendent today in your smart white paper cup, with your perfectly sculpted top arcing gently over the top like a hemisphere of pure delight. I look upon you with adoration, hoping for a sign from you that our love is real. Alas, it is not to be.

You play games with me, Muffin. One minute you’re so hot, a second later you’re cold and unappetizing. I don’t understand what we’re trying to tell me. What we have is love… isn’t it?

I thought our relationship was perfect. Me, staring adoringly at you, you serenely giving off waves of perfect aroma as a preview of what is to come. I want you to be mine forever, to join with me and my digestive system in a moment of passionate embrace before you become one with my hips forever.

Muffin, I don’t know what to do. My advances are constantly spurned – I plead and beg for you to be mine, and yet you sit, immobile, on that table, beyond my reach. What must I do to win your heart – your soft, melt-in-my-mouth insides, your perfectly crisp crust.

I don’t know what to do. I reach out to you, to take you and make you mine, but I find my love barred by the cruel glass of the shop counter. A man is asking me if I have money. Money? What is money, to stand in the way of true love?! I try to explain to him, but he simply shakes his head and points to the door. He wants me to leave, Muffin, but I stay and endure his insults, because I am in love, and our love is true.

Eventually I am thrown out of the store, and I sit, desolate, in the gutter, watching forlornly through the window as the man packs up shop. I can still see you, sitting there on the table behind the counter, waiting for me to come and rescue you. Tomorrow, Muffin, I will ride to your rescue, and -

What? This cannot be! As I gaze longingly through the windows, I think that jealousy must have blinded me. But no – I see clearly, and what I see breaks my heart in two. The man who denied our love is opening the case and lifting you out. For me? Never. He sees me in the window and gives a little nod of recognition – or rather, of spite, because as he does so, he is peeling back your beautiful paper wrapping, exposing the deep, chocolatey cake underneath. And I am helpless, watching through a pane of  glass that is beginning to run with my tears of betrayal and hurt, as he raised you to his lips.

I can watch no more. How could you do this, Muffin? We had something pure, something wonderful. We were in love. And all along, you were going about behind my back with this… this oaf of a man? You have broken my heart, Muffin. We can never be together now – it is too late.

Goodbye, my dear Muffin. I will never forget you, or the day you broke my heart.