Dear IKEA, I love you, I really do. I've bought all my furniture from you. I only eat your food. I always go on an annual pilgrimage to Småland. I've even petitioned for New York to move to Sweden. Perhaps, with enough helicopters, we could do it! I just haven't heard about any follow-ups. Perhaps they're busy with other unimportant matters like "homelessness" and "coronavirus"—but we could solve all that by being Swedish!

The last time I was in Sweden, I became one with the land. I revoked all material possessions, lay down on the ground of IKEA, and let the cold floor take me. The holy act seemed incredibly popular and I gathered a crowd, which even even lifted me up and escorted me out! I will never forget that marvelous day.

Each day I find myself awakening on my soft and cozy Utåker, which only cost me $149. For breakfast, I make sure to eat the highest-quality IKEA Lingonberry Jam with some amazing IKEA Coffee. I then take a walk to IKEA, and I try to get a job there. For some reason, they always kick me out for "several reports of you disturbing the peace in several IKEAs" and "attempting to live [in IKEA]," but I'm not too sure what that's about. Perhaps I just need to devote more of my life to IKEA. Maybe then the holiness of IKEA will accept me.

After trying about 7 to 912 IKEAs, I eat lunch in one of them. I make sure to eat everything, so I can absorb the pure essence of all IKEA food at once.

Upon arriving home, styled after various IKEA showrooms, I spend the rest of my day worshiping my IKEA shrine in the shower.

I do not eat dinner, for I must only take in the energy of IKEA during this time and devote myself to them. I then sleep, excited to repeat the routine the next day.

Most people question my routine, saying things like "Where do you get money?" or "Why are you like this?" or "Sir, is that a stolen bag full of IKEA chair parts?" But to me, the real question is: "Why aren't you doing as I do?" Now, despite my love for you, IKEA, there's just one issue. Where is the exit? No, seriously, ever since I've entered this last IKEA, I've been stuck here. Now, thankfully, due to the IKEA family membership, I'm able to send this letter out. But would you like to know what else should be sent out? Me. I want to get out. It's been about 6 or 20 days since I've entered. I've had to raid the kitchen for some food, and, frankly, I'm getting tired of the food here. Holiness and beauty can only exist with evil and ugliness present. Being stuck in heaven is making me tired of it. Besides the lack of doors, what's up with everything else about the layout here? It’s all so non-euclidean. I find myself entering doors that don't exist, going straight in curved pathways, or climbing up the stairs to a lower floor.

The people in this IKEA don't feel right, too. They are too friendly. All want to help me. Whatever happened to the guy who would curse at you because your cart was too close to theirs? Or the cashier that was just done with it?

I want to go back. Please, IKEA, I miss my old life. I miss my- nothing. I miss nothing. I have nothing but IKEA. I am one with IKEA now. I am IKEA. IKEA is me.