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The first time we met, I knew we had something special. True, you made me wait. You made everyone wait back then. There were days when I wasn't sure if we would ever get together. But when we finally did, it was all worthwhile. You filled a void in me that I didn't know existed.

And now it's over. The dream is gone. Oh, Krispy Kreme, how did it all go so horribly wrong?

I know we haven't spent as much time together as we once did. But I just saw you two weeks ago on Walden Avenue. It was awkward at first because it was hard to figure out how to navigate that drive-through. And that collection of potholes masquerading as a parking lot. What happened there? I worried that you had let yourself go.

But then you appeared at my window -- driver's side, just like always -- in that green and white number that always made my heart beat a little faster. You took your regular seat beside me. Your aroma was intoxicating. It seemed like old times.

Now I know it was all a lie. You must have known then that you were leaving, but you didn't let on. How could I have been so blind?

Can it really be eight years since I first read that you would be coming into my life? I recall thinking that you would be just another doughnut. In a life filled with cream sticks and powdered jellies and cinnamon rolls, why would I think some southern fried glazed ring would be any different?

I see now how foolish I was. How could I ever have thought of you as just "another doughnut?" Others called you a Freddie's wannabe, but they were wrong. You were one of a kind. Some days, when I was really hungry, you were three or four of a kind. Maybe once, half a dozen. Ah, the good old days.

You were so light and airy, but the more time we spent together, the more I realized that there was much more to you than met the eye. Each time you came into my life, it was like a dream, often followed by a stomach ache and deep regret, but I didn't care. You were so wonderful, so sweet, so fresh. And, occasionally, so hot.

You were always available, and I was always hungry. It was as if we were meant to be.

Still, it wasn't as easy as I would have liked. There were rough patches. The diet nearly broke us. And, I admit, I strayed. How could I not? There were so many Tim Hortons between us and, I'm sorry, but the coffee there was just better than yours.

Then Dunkin' Donuts decided to come back to town. You always seemed so busy, and Dunkin' was a little cheaper, maybe more eager to please. I know it hurts to hear that, but even now I can't lie to you.

You tried to win me back. God knows you tried. Every time I came through your door, you were waiting for me, a free sample, giving yourself to me and asking nothing in return. There were coupons and bonus cards promising "Buy a dozen and get a dozen free!" Sometimes I would even see you in the back of church, surrounded by Boy Scouts or CYO members.

I know now that you were just desperate for attention.

Maybe the beginning of the end came when you got that second place in Cheektowaga. You had seemed so happy in the Town of Tonawanda, but obviously something was missing. If only I had known sooner.

Now it's too late. You're gone, leaving in your wake a trail of tears and pants that no longer fit.

Life will go on. Something new and unhealthy will come along. But as long as I live, I fear that my heart will always have one thing in common with an original glazed: a hole that will never be filled.

e-mail: bandriatch@buffnews.com