My Dear Brielle

The letter is pressed in between the screen door and the wood door of her porch. His heart drops in his stomach because he knows what this note means. It means she’s gone and she’s never coming back. That she can’t come back.

He slowly opens the door and takes the note, folding it and placing it in his pocket without even really looking at it because, in all honesty, he knows what it says already. It’s full of “I love you”s and “don’t forget me”s and “remember when”s. It’s full of the same thing, repeated over and over but said a million different ways.

I’m sorry I’m gone, but it’s my time. I love you, remember that. Never forget me.

His stomach is all knotted up and unshed tears burn the backs of his eyes. He promised her he wouldn’t get emotional when it happened. They never addressed the “problem” by name, only by it. That was what she wanted, and he’d do anything to make her happy in that dark time.

He drives back to his house under the heavy blanket of silence and when he gets home he searches for what seems like hours—but is really only a few minutes—for a notebook.

And when he finds one, he starts writing.

My dear Brielle...