The last drop

Dear Munich,

I am writing this letter not to your people, but to you. I'm not waiting for a reply, since that would be like waiting for the gods to answer my questions about the crappy chain of coincidences in my life. I hope you're aware that you were my first. Misfortune, that is. Never have I felt so happy to break up with someone as I am right now, breaking up with you. I know you don't care, you miserable piece of shit city; I had to put up with your disinterest, your intolerance, your disregard, your lifelessness, your fucking annoying general ignorance for far too long, but now it's over, bitch.

Decency would make me end this letter here, but hey, you took that away too. Look at me not embracing your green pastures and blissful peace, you village. Fucking anhedonia, that's what you gave me. Do you remember when you were luring me in with all your culture and history and architecture? Of course you do, you misanthropic dolt. When I couldn't take you anymore, I went to see other parts of the world and saw what they had to offer in terms of cultural satisfaction; you, my friend, are an agrarian joke. I gravely deluded myself (and I don't feel ashamed of admitting it) when I thought you were truly noble. The fuck you were noble, you medieval beer guzzler. It would be cruel of me to get into your historic past, so I will avoid acting lousy, unlike you did all this time.

You know what my favorite place is? The Zoo. You know why? Because I feel more human there than downtown. Do you know how many times I simply wanted to hang out with your people? Do you know what each and every meeting did to me? It made me loathe people. It made me think everyone is the same. It made me label human beings and made me think I had this weird superiority complex that killed off any form of bonding. And it's been more than two years with you, I'm sure you have at least an idea about the number people I've met during this time. How exactly did you manage to clone everyone?

And I tried, you know, I really did try. I wrote you stories, I glorified the few things you got going on, I even accepted your irate detachment after a while. I was okay with you ignoring my existence because hey, this was an arranged affair after all, it's not like we chose each other. It's not like I ever really loved you, you deceiving hussy, but you almost had me on my knees begging for your affection. I felt I was entitled to a little bit of it, instead I had to put up with years of cold, with months of rain, with emotional thunderstorms every evening. You never, ever made me happy. Maybe because you have no clue what happiness really is, since you don't have the capacity to give or receive any kind of love.

There isn't a thing I like about you anymore. I hate your fancy car parades, your stupid public displays of glamor, your idiotic hobbies. I'm so glad your neighborhoods are taken over by immigrants, I hope their Middle-Eastern spirit will feed on your empty soul like dung-beetles feed on crap. Oh and no wonder you changed your stupid slogan in 2006, even you realized you're very, very far away from being a cosmopolitan city and even further away from having a heart, you tin bucket. And what did you change it to, you great pretender - "München mag Dich", Munich likes you. Let me revise that for you: Munich likes you, not. Because this is the type of humor you'll laugh at, you impassive tool.

So I'm leaving you forever, and in my mind, I'm already gone.
In case you think I'm biased, what do you think about these people's thoughts on you? Or these? What about one of your own?

I really don't care what happens to you, so the only thing left to say right now is

so fucking long.