My dearest Colon,

I imagine you have known for some time now that things are not great. I’ve had trouble sleeping and I’ve lost weight, shrinking in font size. It has been difficult for me to find a job and our computer keys receive no love, sans the hovering pinky fingers that never press me, unless in error. If either of us, they favor you.

As they should. You are far more beautiful and versatile. That’s what made me fall for you in the first place. Your supple spheres, paired directly on top of one another. You were no match for my weak heart. I felt, immediately upon seeing you, my comma growing. I loved, and still love you. Which is why I must leave.

There is no work for me and I cannot support our family; you deserve better. Next year we will have two children in college, learning the rules of their trade. Our daughter, Period, is strong and I’m confident that she will make a significant impact on society in the future. Our son, Comma, is unlike any of his peers. He is versatile and athletic, and loves to be used in new and sometimes unconventional ways. It is not the younger two that make me anxious, but rather our eldest child, Oxford Comma. He is most like me. Once a staple of the literary world, he is now vanishing. After generations of punctuation royalty, I am devastated that it is I who brings a useless son into this world. I foresee that I will have to support him for the rest of my days on what little income I have. He is doomed for life as a freelancer and I fear he will be as destitute as I, if not worse.

I plan on venturing far and wide, perhaps to London, for work. I hope to find a niche wherein the semicolon is frequently used. I’ve heard rumors around the Semicolons Gentlemen’s Club that medicine has proven a fruitful endeavor. Further speculation renders bountiful job positions in law. ‘Tis a shame that novelists are only allowed two per lifetime. And here at Sandford High School, I’m less than useless.

I will write you daily, my love, and send home all my earnings. Together we will rebuild the trust fund of my ancestors. Those noble Semicolons, who were an elite clan. They were paid respectably for joining independent clauses with dignity and integrity. But times change and shortly after we married, my reign was taken by that dash — an unqualified mutant of the hyphen with its long and erect ways. But there are things I can do that the dash, with all his flair and panache, doesn’t even know exist. Things that they cannot teach at Dashery University with their modern theories. Things that will blow your mind. It’s time I take back what is ours.

Yours truly forever and always,

The Semicolon