My dearest Rebecca,
        Given your recent prospect and interest relocating yourself to the country, and your invitation that I join you in such a venture, I find myself duly obliged to inform you to the best of my ability of all my reasons of objection, so as to shed light on my rejection of your offer. I am entirely resolute when it comes to the question of the countryside, and find myself utterly irreconcilable with the idea of uprooting myself, no matter the loss as a result of my refusal.
        In truth, I wish never to live in the country, it pains me thoroughly even to visit. Its oppressive expanse robs all who dwell too near of all beauty, replacing it instead with an isolated desolation masking itself as 'nature'. Heightening the insignificance of creation, substituting tedious, repetitious production and work for critical investigation and creative endeavour. How curious it is that people, having the aforementioned actively stolen from them and thus condemned to thankless, alienated toil, would turn and themselves actively cheat all fulfilment from their lives by moving to the country. Rather I be crushed, worn to a nub of humanity; a hollow, lifeless husk by another, taking my labour and turning it for profit, than I, with the choice of fates willingly suck myself dry of all happiness and delight.
        The city; the great heaving mass of humanity travailing for the sake of subsistence, overshadowed and overseen by the pitiless and parasitical vermin of the towers; those vampiric husks serving not themselves, but commodity and money, capital, to which and for which they have sold their soul. The city; the living, breathing organism grown from the seeds and soil of generations of women's and men's struggle, sweat, blood, births and painful imposed deaths. The city whose streets can be walked at all hours, passing your fellow friends-in-chains, conversing, laughing, loving, loathing and living; all by choice, all purely for the sake of human companionship and comfort.
        Better I die than throw it all away. Better I cease to be on this earth built by women and men, yet ruled by parasite and their need for capital, for more blood that will never quench their thirst, will never for a moment fill their stomach and cannot but buy them yet more blood from which they still try to take their fill. The country; populated by none but the least successful of these vermin, and worked by none but the most unfortunate of poor souls, dragged along by their monstrous 'masters'.
        Given that fateful choice of life in the community of the cheated, surrounded by the constructs of labour, or 'life' in the desert of existence, devoid of company and having to rely only on my own soul as dowry to the accumulation of currency, with the 'beauty' of 'nature'--which itself is nothing more than the prospect of exploitable land, trees and creatures--I choose the land of labour. I choose the forest of glass. I choose the continued sapping of my possessions and money, my labour and life's blood. Rather I live the pauper in the valleys of construction than the soulless parasite of prospective exploitation.
        In the country I am denied the right to consort and love those of my choosing, I am denied the very right to love itself. In the city I am comparatively merely denied the right to openly, legally and publicly express and celebrate that love. Not, I should add further, by my fellow women and men, but, as always, it is vermin in their towers that deny me that right. They cannot, though they shall continue forever in trying, suck my love from me and sell it for their own ends, thus, I shall be prevented from exploring and enjoying it, for fear I should use it to my benefit.
        Those poor souls dragged to the country against their will or better judgement are doomed. Doomed to an endless cycle of preparation and travel, and I would have nothing of it.
        And so I must refuse your proposal, though I am aware that in doing so I in fact rob myself of you, and the happiness that would be had with you. But it is for the sake of not losing myself that I will, and must, lose you, and in all truth and reality it is only myself with whom I am forever condemned to sleep.
        I expect that you will continue for a time, unable or unwilling to understand all that I have put forth, but take heart for it shall take even longer for me to fathom, much less agree with your choice in moving to the countryside.
        Goodbye.
        - Novi