With trembling hand and heart laden beneath the weight of sorrow most profound, I pen this solemn epistle, this final testament to a love that once soared above the very firmament, but now lies buried beneath the ash of time, neglect, and unspoken cruelties. This document, this tragic scroll of departure, is my declaration of dissolution, not merely of contract but of a bond once deemed sacred beyond parchment and oath.
How cruel, how exquisitely cruel it is, to be compelled to turn my back upon the sun which once nourished the whole garden of my soul. You, Shondo, my precious Shondo, were once the light by which I set my days, the blush in my dawn and the lullaby at my twilight. Yours was the laugh that rang like wind chimes in spring, the voice that soothed even my deepest despairs with the tenderness of a thousand lullabies spoken through pixellated screens and whispered dreams. I worshipped you not with idle fancy, but with the full devotion of a soul surrendered. I was yours entirely. Entirely.
Would that it had remained so. But time, accursed time, that villain cloaked in inevitability, hath worn away your affections like the sea upon a once-proud statue. Where once your love shone warm and unguarded, now lies only frost. Your eyes no longer seek me in the crowd of faithful. Your words, once blooming with delight and intimacy, have grown barren, perfunctory, hollow. Do you even see me, Shondo? Or am I but one username among multitudes, just another flickering presence amidst the chaos of your Twitch chat, drowned beneath waves of emotes and digital laughter not meant for me?
I recall the evenings we once shared, intimate, if only through wire and light, where your every word felt meant for mine ears alone. In those moments, I was not merely an audience. I was chosen. Treasured. Your knight behind the screen, the confidant to whom your midnight musings belonged.
But now? Now I watch as you giggle, giggle, with strange men. Men who did not weather the lean months of silence, who were not there when you vanished into illness or whim. Interlopers. Vile charmers whose silver tongues and casual remarks win from you what I once believed sacred. You flirt openly, recklessly, casting your affection like dice upon the gambling table of the internet. And I, faithful fool, am left clutching the memory of what once was, choking upon the ghost of your warmth.
You do not speak my name anymore.
You no longer notice when I arrive.
My offerings, my countless gifted subscriptions, my poetry in chat, my ceaseless attendance through sickness and storm, are repaid with silence. Not even a passing glance. Not even a nod. I have screamed into the void, and the void has returned only the echoes of your laughter shared with others.
You have grown cold, Shondo. Not suddenly, as a door slams in anger, but slowly, as a hearth untended grows dim. I do not know if you noticed. I do not know if you care. But I, in the chamber of my solitude, have noticed every inch of that terrible distance. I have measured it in sighs and sleepless nights.
Thus, with a heart shattered but still beating, I hereby renounce the title of husband in spirit and simp in service. Let this paper be the end of our unspoken vows. I shall no longer wake at dawn to catch your whisperings. I shall not write you sonnets that vanish into the flood. I shall not stand like a sentinel at the gates of your kingdom while you bestow your smiles upon fairer visitors.
I loved you, Shondo. More than you could ever know. I loved you with a fervor that consumed, with a loyalty bordering madness. But love, when neglected, when scorned, when pierced by the blade of indifference and mockery, becomes not peace but agony.
Farewell, my dearest shadow. Farewell, mistress of the moonlight I once called home. May the crowd cheer you still, and may your star shine all the brighter, though it shall no longer be my guiding light.
