That's the Way the Cookie Crumbles

My marriage is crumbling like the warm blueberry muffins that I'm baking.  I try to retrieve them from the muffin tin, but the moist, sugary confections turn into crumbs in my hands.

I can't hold all of the crumbs, and they fall to the ground.  Their sweetness becomes bittersweet on the floor.  I can't put them back together in their original form. 

Old stories and photos, remind me of better times.  I can't recapture those feelings. 

I want to make a sticky sweet syrup and pour it into a bowl of crumbs and somehow make something that was never there to begin with.