The Note.

I came home to a note. A note telling me that he had left. It did not say where or when. But I assumed that it was some time in the morning after I left for work and some time before the evening before I came back. The 'where' didn't matter.  What mattered was that he wasn't coming back. At least that's what the note said. He found the easy way out.  Not facing the situation, not dealing with the issues, and making a run for it.  Good for him.  He wouldn't have to deal with the empty house or the million questions that now plagued my mind. He was out, gone, somewhere far away. Perhaps somewhere better.

For the next few days, I stayed at home.  I kept staring at that note, thinking that if I just stare at it long enough, I may be able to change the words - that perhaps I am just reading it wrong. If I just read it one more time, I will get a different meaning out of it, and will realize how silly I am to  have misunderstood that he was gone. But that didn't happen no matter how many times I read the note. Some things really aren't in our control.  What's done is done. Some things we just have to live with no matter how much pain it causes.  Some choices we must accept.

Yet, a part of me still thinks that if I look at that note long enough, I will somehow magically change its message.  That too will change soon enough. Perhaps, some day I won't look at it at all. Perhaps some day I will forget about the note and it's author. Today is not that day.