Dear Sir Immanuel Sisteme,
 
It has been such a long time since we have last conversed; and yet so much has occurred –so much, ironically, concerning you. It seems now that all the problems of my universe are circling around your world. And with sincerest regrets I must admit that this acquaintance now ceases in its existence. 
However, before saying such a brash statement I must begin at the beginning, to when it all began. Life was in good manner in those times, and I was content, fulfilling my daily duties with a certain pride and hope. Josephine and I were on pleasant terms, and I appreciated her deeply with each hour of each day. You see Sir—Josephine and I had been friends for a lifetime, knowing each other since the first dawn of our lives.
As we matured and aged, our friendship blossomed into a love and I had an eternal dream that we would live in mutual respect of one another. However, those dreams were never given a chance…for you burned them as infants, making sure that they blossomed into ashes and nothing more. With each intricate, delicate, beautiful branch of our trust and dependency of one another, you peeled them away with every confident stride you took.
You forced my Josephine and I to be recognized as two independent beings, contrary to our promise to be one universal soul. And now? What do I see when I look upon the face of my once past companion? I see a woman who has sunk to the depths of self despair, a woman who you are corroding away with each passing day. Your words, my dear Immanuel Sisteme, are like black armadas, hiding within the cover of night and attacking from beneath—in stealth. And with each syllable—each letter—you slowly corrode Josephine, and in turn, me, away. And you are slow in your process, excruciatingly slow. So, when our death day waits before us, you sit upon your throne of sins with your curled sneer, and we lay aghast—aghast at the notion that you could commit such malicious acts.
We placed our trust upon your shoulders and because of you, my love has transitioned from Josephine Normia to Josephine Artistia. And whom may I ask made her change her name, change her identity? You. You thought I could not find her, but you were utterly wrong, my friend. You see, we are one and we can never be separated no matter the distance, no matter the change, no matter the unhurried disintegration.
Why am I writing this letter of insulting offenses? To thank you. Thank you for making my life a living hell, and making me reconsider all that I am, and why I was placed upon this beautiful Earth, only to face this type of suffering until the last violet dusk of my life. And before I depart, I have but one question to leave you pondering until the day that you die: why me?

Sincerely,
Theodore Doby