Dear Buttercup,
It's quite depressing actually, to write this kind of letter. I'm not much of a fan of these things but I think this is much needed in this situation, do you not agree?
Since you are reading this letter, it's safe to say that I am already gone. Dead. And you're probably crying now.
That's okay. It's perfectly fine to cry. There's nothing wrong about that. Crying never did define one's weakness. But I hope you won't wallow into your tears for the rest of your life. Because, I can never really forgive myself if that would be the case. You know how much I hate it when you mope. Well, I do find it a bit when your pout pops out from you face.
Anyway, if it makes you feel any better, you can now officially tell me "I told you so!" You were right. I always knew that but you know how I am. I am as stubborn as a mule and don't you dare blame yourself! This is my fault and my fault only. And perhaps I should say sorry for not listening, for not stopping myself.
I am not perfect. You are very aware of this. All our sleepless nights after our verbal fights are one of the many proofs for that. But I am very thankful. Thankful that despite my imperfections, you still stood by me. You still married me.
You know how bad of a poet I am so I won't make my last letter into something out of a poorly written Twilight fanfiction. You already know you're incredible so I don't need to tell you that.
Just remember that you are strong. You will get through this, I know you will. And you will be happy again. Though I have to be honest that it's kind of sad that I won't be there when that happens, but that's fine because you deserve it. You deserve all the good things in life, you know why? Because you are you. And I love you because of that.
As of now, as I am writing this letter you are in the shower singing. Did I ever tell you how awful of a singer you are? But don't you worry; there are so many things that you do that make up for that little flaw. I probably should end this before you I burn our dinner, again. Tell me how did we survive for this long again? We are both awful cooks!
With love,
Butch