How is Oxford? I hear the professors there are top notch. One of them I think I knew several years ago while working down in that area. If you mention my name to one Mr. Benjamin Curtis, he might recognize it and respect you more. Just don’t tell him about our little falling out. That might make him angry because, and I don’t mean to brag, we were kind of like best friends.
            He was a former marriage counselor who began teaching psychology, so it’s safe to say that he would take my side if you were to ever divulge our personal lives to him should the two of you ever meet. We went our separate ways and later on I met you. I wanted to call him and tell him that he was wrong – I did find true, profound happiness in someone else’s presence. A conglomeration of positive feelings and optimism that sat on the pedestal near the center of my character has now been torn down by your decision to completely abandon our effort. Seven years down the drain all because you had to “find where you truly belonged.”
            This house – the one that I purchased so that we could raise something of our own – is now an expansive carcass. Sometimes I stand out on the balcony and view the scenic horizon that often harbors a storm these days. The mornings where I watch the rain roll in only further remind me of the days where you and I watched the sun rise and set. At first I despised doing such a thing, but you made me realize how much forgetting about the world made it so much better. This porch, from where I write this letter, was a divine frontier where we could concoct whatever dream we wanted to pursue.
            My personal dream was to live out the rest of my life with someone of genuine value to me. Whether or not you shared a similar dream I care not for since, I realize now, we are far more different than we realized when we accepted the natural promise, through sickness and in health. We have both broken our fair share of promises, but this is far more critical since it tied us together. We are now traveling further and further away from one another, heading towards certain decimation. You told me, on our first anniversary, that we would make it through our hardships hand in hand. From then on we took off the training wheels and became two components to a majestic machine. We were on our own, and we kept on pushing forward like we were meant to. You are an unusual woman for being able to rely on yourself for so long, but keep in mind that your tumble will come. Then you will come to realize just how unlucky you truly are.
            Now that I mention luck, your dog has also abandoned me. The last night that I saw him was shortly after you went away. He must have learned that you were missing and went to go find you. Lucky just couldn’t bear to live without his sweet old master. Oh no, it’s terrible that he has to suffer with me, isn’t it? It’s not like I watched over him after you left us alone! The poor mutt is confused without you to guide him along, and he was a gift to you! I got us that dog so you wouldn’t feel so worthless for being unable to bear our children!
            We even agreed on a name – Elijah for a boy; Helen for a girl. Those nights we spent planning out their first year was all for nothing. You may think I should not blame you, but you know very well how hurt and torn I am, still thinking about what could have been. It is mortifying – a realization cemented in reality – to think that my idea of a fulfilling life was a mere fabrication summoned every night from a growing child’s imagination. Each night it would awaken as it still does in this day and age. It’s a dream that I wish would die, but cannot for I feel that that there is some reason within me that I would kill for to be true – a reason for you to return and admit that you are wrong. Knowing your ignorance, as it most likely shines through as you skim this letter to laugh at me, you will only think of me as inferior – an infection to you that made you run that is still clinging on just until you falter.
            I will not look for Lucky. To seek him would be pointless. Instead, I will only write again when he is confirmed to be dead. Then let’s see if you respond.

With utmost sincerity,
Aden Christiansen