Spill, simmer, falter, wither

You find me on a Tuesday, on my Tuesday trip to town. You're sellotaped to the inside pane of the jumble shop window. A photograph of your mangled face and underneath an appeal for a "Compassionate & tolerant owner, a person without other pets & without children under four". This is a whollly different kind of love story that spans the four seasons echoed in the title, capturing the destructive essence of loneliness.