It became critically important for me to write to you. Things haven’t gone well. You may well imagine the worst, for I feel that is exactly what is happening to me. I know it was all a silly game wrapped up in a romantic ribbon of white lies and flattery, but there was a kernel of truth to the mad ramblings as well. You deserve to know that my leaving is completely on me and a result of my deficiencies, and in no wise a result of anything you, in your perfection, did for which you could ever be held liable. I must flee, and so I cut short this farewell and can only hope that you will include it in your collection of letters I have penned over the years that you keep in a locked box beneath your bed. Think well of me, as I cannot do so for myself.