My dearest Mary,
By the time you read this, I will be on a plane to New Zealand to begin a new life. You probably haven 't even noticed I'd packed my bags. I have fallen in love with my penfriend, Desmond, and I'm going to live on his sheep farm. It's been hard to watch you become a remnant of the person I once loved. Your research into m-m-mental illness has been admirable but your i-idealistic pursuit to remedy it has been misguided.
Mary, you have to realise y-you are not a magic beauty cream you can smooth on the world to rid it of its wrinkles. I love you, Mary, but I love Desmond more. I hope one day your heart will heal and we can be friends.