Dear Clary Sage,
It's not you. It's me. When I first spotted you amongst the rows of other painted fellows, I fell for you. I thought you were the one. On paper, you appeared to be the perfect shade of sage green, a soft dusty hue that would complement our oriental rug.
But after several years of daily interaction, longing stares, encounters in a dimly lit room, and glimpses over a glass of wine, your true color has revealed itself. Instead of a dusty sage, you are a hideous shade of melted mint chocolate chip ice cream. A blight on my life. An unappealing hue that does not brighten my day.
It was in the cold harsh reality of the morning that I made the tough decision that our relationship must end. I've grown, I'm not the same person as I was when we first met, and I want to take my life in a different direction. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but it's over. I'm leaving you for Benjamin Moore's Monroe Bisque.
Please...don't call me.