I am writing you out of desperation. I have many things I would like to say to you--things I feel a need to say to you--but alas, time is not on my side. The battery for this laptop has dwindled and now teeters on the brink of death, and I do not have the means to preserve its spirit. I fear my attachment to this device has grown too strong; I dread an existence without this outlet for my thoughts. It would seem that I have developed a dependence where there is no feasible substitute for someone with my disposition. Furthermore, the discovery of Wesley Neumann's apparently accidentally shared discourse grips at my being--his wandering ponderings ring in my ears and prod at my curiosity. He does not speak to me, but his words unwittingly do. I have much to say to this distant stranger; much to learn.
Will you help me?
True, I am but a stranger myself--a strange stranger; one who provides you with no real incentive to offer your kindness yet again. And yes, I do not have anything to offer in return, and requesting your assistance very well may place you in some form of danger (maybe, I can't be sure)... Still, I must ask this of you, even though I should never think to impose on you in this way, even with the realization that such an inquiry carries such an immense burden (a burden further burdened by the source of the question)... But, there are just far too many questions to be asked and far too much conversation to be had. What a waste it would be should this potential fail to actualize. I hope, truly and fully, that there is a solution to this dilemma, and I hope that it is one which you will be able and willing to aid in the procurement of such.
That is all I have to say for now. I anxiously await your return.