Dear Soda,

I was
wrong. Your diet self was just as bad as
you’re regular self. I refuse to let you
take me down with you. It’s over between
us. I won’t say I’m not sad, or that I
don’t miss you from time to time but it’s the right thing for both of us. I’m grown up now, more mature than I was at
twenty, and I see now that you want me to stay young and dumb. I can’t.
I’ve seen what you can do to a body.
I’ve seen the way you treat my enamel.
The way you kill a penny left in your clutches for too long. (what did that penny ever do to you cruel
metal eating drink?) You’re ruthless and I refuse to believe your hype any
longer. We’re through. Done.
Finished. I’ll look back on our
times together with fondness but know that I just can’t hang out with you
anymore. Don’t be sad, it’s not you it’s
me. I’ve moved on. I’m embracing a new lifestyle and it’s just
not one you can be a part of.
You’ll
find other people, other kids to seduce and hang out with. Trust me, there are other fish in the sea and
you’ll be happy again. Just not with
me. Good luck Soda, you’re not a bad
drink, just not one I want in my life.
Good-bye.
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