After you came to me, leaving your former lover behind, I thought we were going to be perfect together. You were the mustard and I was the jar of pickles, and wow, what amazing mustard pickles we made together-- just like mama used to make.
But lately, I feel like you're getting distant, like you don't love me anymore. I'll keep your picture on my bedside, love, but I won't be seeing you again unless you make the effort to reach out to me. With regret and love,
(Mustard pickles are, actually, a thing. I've had them. They're good)