Dear petite sirah,
I will admit this is a difficult conversation for me, I love you so much and don’t want to in any way trivialize our clearly meaningful relationship.
But you give me a headache.
Granted, I realize it’s my own fault for delusionally convincing myself that a normal glass of wine is a giant goblet that holds half a bottle of you, but this isn’t about me, it’s about you.
You are empty.
Please come back when you are full.
In the meantime I will be unfaithfully dabbling in my other vice, the dark and steamy Ethiopian Yirgacheffe.
I’m sorry, you know how I like an exotic coffee.