I want you to know I'm leaving you. I'd love to use that old line, “It's not you, it's me,” but unfortunately, it's you. I just can't count on you. I can't even remember how many times I've asked you to check in, only to be disappointed. And you're a dawdler - I got tired of asking you a question, only to have to sit around and wait for the answer. To be even more blunt, you're not sophisticated enough - I have fairly refined tastes, and you simply don't seem interested in all the finer things that I need to lead a rich existence.
Since you'll probably hear about it, I might as well tell you that I've met someone else. I don't want to mention any names, so I'll just refer to this other as “SF”. Oh sure, SF isn't perfect, but we share a lot of the same interests, and we just have a lot easier time getting along. And yes, it's true, I've been visiting SF on the side for quite some time now, so this isn't just some fling. SF, frankly, is just a lot more mature than you are, and I need that.
I hope you're able to get over your problems. I'd like to see you succeed in life, if for no other reason than that a lot of my friends still hang out with you. All the best,
(With apologies to Don Box.)