I have spent the last few days desperately trying to drown a tiny tiny crush in a bucket of red wine. But the bloody thing seems to have ninety-seven lives - because every time I pull him from the bucket, finally convinced of his death, melancholy pop songs wafted across the air and the bugger starts breathing again.
Yes, yes, I know you are all slightly aghast at my seemingly harsh manner. That he is only a crush - just a tiny tiny crime of the heart committed by fool. But the bastard has to die. I cannot carry him in my pocket a moment longer, hoping for a change of heart. And so I type this post to you with a tear in my eye, a box of tissues by my side, and a tiny tiny crush drowning in a bucket of red wine.
R.I.P. sweet tiny tiny crush of mine.
I shall truly miss you.
xxxx
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