This isn't a letter, it's a gift.

You've got to stop letting women slip drugs into your mouth, Dex, it's unhygienic. And dangerous. One day it'll be a cyanide capsule.

Whatever happens tomorrow, we had today; and I'll always remember it

Letters, like compilation tapes, were really vehicles for unexpressed emotions and she was clearly putting far too much time and energy into them.

Dexter, I love you so much. So, so much, and I probably always will. I just don't like you anymore. I'm sorry.

He has found himself more and more reliant on her at exactly the point that she has become less available to him.

Oh you know me. I have no emotions. I'm a robot. Or a nun. A robot nun.