To my continental breakfast that I had this morning,

I don't know if you're even reading this right now – I don't know if I even care, anymore.

I understand, I know you don't want to talk. After so many beautiful mornings shared, an endless bond to end all bonds – it fell apart. You ruined my morning. I just need substance in my life, and also breakfast. You've given everything you had, and I respect your unabashed efforts.

You left me, and you left me unsatisfied. The void in my stomach calls out in swells for more, each passing minute brings exponentially greater pangs – of hunger. Some days we made do with your coffee and bread, and my dwindling appetite, but I don't even drink coffee. You know this. Time cures all? Don't stuff that cliche down my throat, and don't stuff that English muffin down there either, I wan't eggs. None of that pansy, across-the-pond rubbish.

Do you remember when we first met? I had on a plain, black shirt, with jeans. I didn't want to impose -- I had just purchased the shirt that morning, I was excited. You were wearing strawberry jam and a napkin. I appreciated your candor, and respectability. Where have those gone. What I see now is a shell, an egg shell, of a hard boiled egg, of yourself. We're straining our relationship, and ourselves, instead of properly straining orange juice to accompany a hearty meal filled with protein instead of infinitely empty carbs.

Know that I don't blame you. We've grown apart -- though I believe I haven't literally grown, on account of the lack of important Omega-3 fats and growth-associated vitamins. I certainly bear a portion of the blame. My life has been in disarray -- my meal times vary. I surprise you, at the table, then curse the skies when you're not prepared. I was unfaithful. I went to restaurants -- nay, I ate at restaurants -- ate breakfast. I couldn't satiate my hunger. For that, I'm sorry.

But know that you enabled it. Muffins are not healthy -- I cannot stress this enough. Don't hastily smush some blueberries into a halfhearted muffin bottom and tell me it's good for me. I can see right through you.

It shouldn't have ended like this, with such a sour taste in my mouth. Don't pretend you don't know why. Tonight, we dine in hell, which assuredly offers more than some paltry fruit collection and various breads.