Julie—

I only have this one bottle.

I could have used it to ask for rescue. But that would take days to reach shore, weeks for authorities to coordinate a search, and even longer for someone to actually locate me and bring me home.

That is simply too long for some things to go unsaid.

It’s not you. It’s me. Specifically, my lack of interest in continuing to be with you.

I hope you’re walking somewhere along the western coast of the United States and that you find this bottle before our wedding on Thursday.

As we discussed after you asked whether I liked your mother, I try to practice radical honesty. I believe clarity is kinder than delay, even if I am currently stranded on a remote, uncharted island in the Pacific, far from my last known location. I’m a straight shooter, Julie, and straight shooters don’t wait until the reception.

Please tell the caterer she can keep your dad’s deposit. I feel that will help provide closure. For you. And for her.

There’s no need to respond to this message; I don’t believe in reopening conversations once they’ve run their course. Also, I’m fairly certain tides are one-way.

I want to be clear that I didn’t take this decision lightly. I considered waiting until I was rescued, but that felt dishonest. It crossed my mind to not say anything at all, but that felt like ghosting, and I think we’re both too mature for that.

I wanted to end things the honorable, courageous way. Unfortunately, my phone is at the bottom of the sea.

Before I found this bottle, I attempted to arrange a message to passing planes with rocks on the beach. It’s unclear whether the pilot understood “LET’S JUST BE FRIENDS!” or whether it was delivered with an appropriately solemn tone.

I want to be fair. To you, and to the women at bars who will later hear my story. I may be known as someone who survived alone against nature and returned quietly changed. At that level of recognition, it would be irresponsible not to keep my options open.

And if I’m being brutally honest—which, as you know, I just call “being honest”—there were some red flags we never fully addressed. You were uncomfortable with an open relationship, even though I would have been the only one sleeping with other people. That felt like a reasonable compromise.

I need space. Not physical space, because I’m already four thousand miles away. But space in my thoughts for new possibilities. I also can’t be expected to stay faithful if beautiful women happen to wash up on this island. Obviously.

Please take comfort in the fact that I’m thriving. I think civilization may have been holding me back. I’ve accomplished a lot since washing up here.

I’ve learned that quicksand is real. But the trick is to thrash loudly enough that something bigger eventually intervenes. In my case, a leopard dragged me out by the throat. Once it was tired from hauling me up a tree, I was able to shimmy down and go about my day. You just have to be careful not to shimmy back into the quicksand. You can lose most of an afternoon that way. I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere about our relationship, but you shouldn’t dwell on it.

According to the charcoal hash marks I’ve made on the cave wall, it’s been about six hours.

Anyway, you’re a really great person. I know you’ll move on and find happiness soon. Just don’t date any of my friends.

Given the amicable nature of this breakup, I trust you’ll still send help immediately.

—Me