Dearest Sir Lancelot,
It pains me more than an arrow to the chest to inform you (that means to let you know) that I will only be joining you only on four more performances (you know, what we have been doing on stage). Herbert's antiquated (sorry Sir, that means old fashioned) text messaging system is not the reason why we must part ways; I have gotten used to that, and I have always expected (thought was coming) some hardships when I signed into your service. The reason I must leave you is the same reason I joined you, love. I could tell that underneath your violent tendencies (or urges toward violence) was a loving soul searching for a way around a troubled father son relationship. Although it was an honor to assist (ahem, help) you to see when your solution fell (literally (sorry Sir, actually) falling from a tower) into your life, I must say goodbye. There is a certain brunette (dark haired) filly that has caught my eye, and a squire's income hardly impresses (meaning to say doesn't impress). I must strive for (try to get) bigger and better goals; well maybe bigger, for a better experience will be diff... hard to come by. I will always cherish (enjoy with all my heart) our time together, Sir.
Godspeed.
clop, clop, ow! clop, clop, ow!
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