Dear Caleb,
I don't really know how to tell you this but your nostrils are insulting. I think I realized it when I threw up in your sock drawer outside your office and I saw you sit on my salt-beef bucket. I'm sure you're open enough to understand that Santa doesn't exist, right? I am returning the cut toenails to you, but I'll keep my virginity as a memory. You should also know that I hate your cooking and you have RUINED my attempts at another world war.
Nevertheless, your now everlasting enemy,
Isa
Dear (someone you recently talked to),
I don't really know how to tell you this, but (1). I think I realized it (2)(3) and I saw you (4)(