I used to have a secret lover. I only saw him at night–late at night. We’d have dinner together and, as some poet once said, “surfeit ourselves on love.”
Then one day, I decided I couldn’t live like that any longer; I wanted to have a real relationship. I decided we could see each other in public, too, and during the day.
The next morning we ate breakfast together on the patio of my house. I enjoyed his company, but it wasn’t the same. Something was missing. Then I realized what it was: During the day, he was kind of boring.
I still see him once in a while. But now we’re just good friends.
His name is Peanut Butter.
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