Dearest roommate,

Please pick your socks up off the floor. Please remember to shut off your alarm while you’re away. Please refrain from doing pull-ups on our doorframe at four in the morning, and please… feed your fish. I’m tired of replacing bubbles.
I know you’re “a morning person”. I know you’re addicted to Mine Craft and therefore find it impossible to get to sleep at a reasonable hour. I know that you sometimes get these unexplainable urges to go to the gym, get all sweaty, come back famished and eat 3 cups of ramen noodles. But if you do insist on living my such a pattern, I would appreciate some kind of warning that our room will have been transformed into a sort of odiferous war-zone upon my return, so at the very least I can avoid bringing a girl up- or god forbid my overly involved mother.
Thank you for reminding me that you are human. Each time I have seen you outside the room, your sneakers have no toilet paper lingering, your eyes are not bloodshot, like my own, your fingers not bruised from hours alone at that keyboard. How you manage to wake up in the morning after all that smell and cacophony, simply baffles me. How you manage to show up for the midterm after a night of wasabi peas and dried mango on the floor of our neighbor’s apartment until three, doing whatever you two do- I’m assuming something technologically oriented- is confounding. This would be unreal in the simplest sense were it not that you have managed to achieve a 3.8 grade point average.
Please understand that your dear roommate cannot survive solely on anime and mint tea. Please do not take it too personally when I say that you are the most horrible slob I have ever had the privilege to call my roommate of four years. You are the most interesting, supportive, hilarious brat I have ever met. I truly wish you success, but first and foremost I hope I finish this letter before I begin crying.

I love you man.

Sincerely,
Your roommate.