Dear Object of My Fantasy,
I believe that the Italian summer heat, the imminent nerve-wrecking training for promotion, and many other shitty love affairs that have bombarded my mind recently have weakened my Wall of Morality and the Dam of Chaste Behaviour, because you have become my current object of fantasy. I have been shrewd enough to avoid fantasizing about you, heart and soul. My protective shell has not crumbled yet as to let me be drowned in the floods of lewdness or have me flounder in the pleasures of the palm while your youthful beauty blossoms in my memory.
But I confess that I have become a maniacal virtual voyeur, and I am really ashamed of it. Thanks to modern technology and Facebook and sexual innuendos in all human industries, stalking is finally institutionalized.
Nevertheless, you may fill up my mind and my fantasies, but I still remain true to my heart- you can never ever replace my own true love, despite the fact that you’re exceedingly far more beautiful than the one I love.
And with this confession, I will end all these foolish fantasies.
Your perpetually frustrated stalker-friend,