A Dear John

Dear Percival,

Well, you're not very dear to me—not any more at least. I've put up with your shenanigans for years now, and I can tell you that I've had enough. It's over.

Now, don't think I'm breaking things off just because you're thinking about replacing me. Oh no. I've been considering taking a hike (metaphorically, of course) and leaving you to take care of your book collection yourself for years now.

You didn't think about my feelings when you replaced me with that grand bookcase downstairs, did you? You took all the best books and lined them up so prettily on its strong shelves. Now the books on my shelf are slanting over because there's not enough to go around.

And what's with all the junk on my shelves? Did you think it was really necessary to put a jewelry box... Actually, I like the jewelry box. But I don't like the piggy bank! Not one bit; I think it's tacky.

You never dusted me. I'm starting to get a rash in my grain because of it. Don't be surprised if you hear me sneezing in the corner. 

The last straw, however, was when your mother frowned at me and considered having me replaced BECAUSE OF MY COLOR. I thought we were living in times that were relatively free of discrimination, but here we have an example of blatant racism. Equality towards all men and furniture? Wasn't that a thing?

Anyway, just wrote to say I can't do this anymore, and it would be best if we broke off our relationship cleanly and got on with our lives. 

Sincerely,

Your Bookcase