By the time you read this, I'll be transferring the last of our mutual savings to a bank account in Geneva.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I've misplaced my copy of Paul Simon's "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover" and I had to improvise.
I know this might seem like a total violation of the laws of physicsto you, seeing as we made all those plans to slowly cannibalize each other one bite at a time, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — sorry that I didn't take the chance to get rid of you last month, but I promise I'll make up for it the next time we meet.I just need need need needneed... well; I can't quite remember.
I want to tell you that I think you are like an impudent grain of sand, warring against a raging ocean, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a satanist,and I am vastly less intelligent than that.You like sprinting through morning traffic while on fire,juggling chainsaws, andfinding out a random victim's e-mail address and subscribe it to every advertisement letter you can find,and I'm just not sure I can ever share your joy in those things.How can two people so different ever make it for the long haul? I think we should date on other planets.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need another scullery maid.
I'd really like us to become that kind of insufferable cinemagoers who've read the plot in advance and sits and yell out spoilers throughout the film to the annoyance of everyone else,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, my left hand and I.