My dearest and all beloved:
I'm sad to inform you that I'm already dead. No good will you obtain by waiting for me to come back. This I hope you don't take it as a private joke. It seems life was a burden and I have decided to be realeased from it via cuting my wrists. You should have seen how the blood flowed, how it travelled throughout my arms, as a river climbing down, and how it finally soaped my t-shirt (I'm so sorry to inform you that I was wearing the one you gave me my last birthday). I feel well enough to ask of you not to forlorn all hope. It's just a little trouble before we can actually be together at the funeral. Do you remember I used to say we will end up all tangled up in some awkward, solemn celebration? This is my last gift for you: my funeral. I wish it to be you who arranges all the little things necessary for a pretty and smooth course of events, no matter how terrible and boring or distressing they might seem. My brother has already recognized my stiff body in the morgue, so at least I could spare you the gross sight of my lifeless limbs. For the night of the burial I have planned a little party: you will play entirely the Bohren's CD Dolores so everyone has an excuse to be sullen and gloomy and so they feel free to shed a couple of sad tears on some other matter they are not willing to accept they wanted to cry for. You will ask for a service of tea and buttered toasts with strawberry mermelade. I know you like it a little bit sour, but please, be thoughtful to our guests and don't put any fake-poison in it. They'll know that way that you appreciate them so much you have rendered to them your favorite blagues. For my casquet I ask very few considerations. I would like to happily rotten in a pine, rough casquet or, if you see yourself troubled by the task of going to the funeral's shop yourself, that my body shall be buried bare or wrapped in a sheet as a shroud (please do avoid any remarks on any Christ's features). As to my personal library, I would like you to set it on flames the very night I'm under the dirt and, I hope this is not too much, to stay there reflecting the fire on your lovely, pale face. I'm planning on being there just to watch the spectacle. I wish I had waved good bye before the world had crumbled.
Sincerely, truly, completely, and finally yours:
----
I'm sad to inform you that I'm already dead. No good will you obtain by waiting for me to come back. This I hope you don't take it as a private joke. It seems life was a burden and I have decided to be realeased from it via cuting my wrists. You should have seen how the blood flowed, how it travelled throughout my arms, as a river climbing down, and how it finally soaped my t-shirt (I'm so sorry to inform you that I was wearing the one you gave me my last birthday). I feel well enough to ask of you not to forlorn all hope. It's just a little trouble before we can actually be together at the funeral. Do you remember I used to say we will end up all tangled up in some awkward, solemn celebration? This is my last gift for you: my funeral. I wish it to be you who arranges all the little things necessary for a pretty and smooth course of events, no matter how terrible and boring or distressing they might seem. My brother has already recognized my stiff body in the morgue, so at least I could spare you the gross sight of my lifeless limbs. For the night of the burial I have planned a little party: you will play entirely the Bohren's CD Dolores so everyone has an excuse to be sullen and gloomy and so they feel free to shed a couple of sad tears on some other matter they are not willing to accept they wanted to cry for. You will ask for a service of tea and buttered toasts with strawberry mermelade. I know you like it a little bit sour, but please, be thoughtful to our guests and don't put any fake-poison in it. They'll know that way that you appreciate them so much you have rendered to them your favorite blagues. For my casquet I ask very few considerations. I would like to happily rotten in a pine, rough casquet or, if you see yourself troubled by the task of going to the funeral's shop yourself, that my body shall be buried bare or wrapped in a sheet as a shroud (please do avoid any remarks on any Christ's features). As to my personal library, I would like you to set it on flames the very night I'm under the dirt and, I hope this is not too much, to stay there reflecting the fire on your lovely, pale face. I'm planning on being there just to watch the spectacle. I wish I had waved good bye before the world had crumbled.
Sincerely, truly, completely, and finally yours:
----
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