By the time you read this, I'll be stuck in a timeloop with no hope of escape.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but it's not like I'm not going to kill you on Saturday anyway.
I know this might seem like , well... inevitable, really,to you, seeing as we made all those plans to continue grossing out teens and old people with our cherished "skinny dip and snogging" expeditions to the fountain in the public square, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain intoxicated.I just need more length from you than I'm getting, and let's face it — you're shrinking with age.
I want to tell you that I think you are going to get coal for Christmas this year, being as naughty as you are, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an agnostic,and I am suicidal.You like laying on the floor with all the lights off,peeling watermelons, andfilling guinea pigs with helium,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 and wherever. Just joshing you. You suck.
I'd really like us to become bitter enemies, constantly plotting each other's downfall until one of us (preferably me) succeeds, giving that person (again, preferably me) the opportunity to engage in stereotypical maniacal laughter,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, but then I woke up and realised that it was just a dream.
Take care of yourself and never forget that everything in this letter was a lie.