Dear Meat,

I miss you, which is weird. You’re no good for me. I’m (possibly) healthier without you and the animals are (might be) better off now that I’m not eating them. We’re done. Over. It’s been two years now. Did you know that? Do you remember the last time I looked at you fondly, with light twinkling in my eyes and all of that cliched crap? I bet you don’t.
Oh, but I remember you. Especially bacon. My God, I’ve dreamed about you, bacon! Plates and plates full with no one to tell me to stop eating, and you were so delicious. Thank you for being wonderful. I’m sorry if this hurts you, bacon. I know it hurts me. I can’t remember exactly how you taste anymore, or what it’s like to lick my lips in anticipation of your grease. I’m sure my arteries are glad I’ve stopped eating eight strips of you at a time for breakfast, and yet my heart aches sometimes for you. When my parents eat bacon I have to look away. I’m so conflicted — you look delicious, but would you be the same as I remember? Are my taste buds in love with a memory? Would it be different now if I came back to you, bacon?
Meat, I’m sorry. I know we’re through. My parents, my friends, my boyfriend all love and adore you, but something has changed within me. After two years without you, I don’t know if I could ever go back. I think about it sometimes when we go out to eat and everyone worries if I’ll be able to find meat-free food on the menu. I want to fit in again, everything nice and easy, no worrying about Cassie because she can’t eat dinner with everyone else. But meat, I can’t return to you in order to make everyone else more comfortable. I made this choice for me, and for the foreseeable future, I’m sticking to it.
I miss you, meat, but it’s getting better. Maybe we’ll grow close again someday. For now, vegetarianism has much more to offer me than you do. I hope you’re well. Goodbye and good luck.
Sincerely,
Cassie.