the note

The slate was always empty, I just never
saw it before. But now she was gone forever
and I had something to say. I woke earlier
than usual, but it was only to free more tears.
I recalled a spark of inspiration from the night before
while sobbing on the sheets, so I fought that sore
in my heart and stood up from bed, walking
slowly to my desk of layered paper, sulking
at the sag I'd turned into ever since that fateful
night, when she left my life for good under that beautiful
gray sky. I switched on the desk light and picked up
my drying ball-point, after wiping one last drop
from my cheek, and got to writing what I had to write.
The going was tough, the content took all my might
and strength, emotionally especially, but after an hour
and a half, I decided I'd written enough of my sour
mood to be clearly understood. I was never known
especially for literate elegance, but I made sure to show
the peak of my sporadic skill with the pen, for
after all, in another hour, I would be no more.