The Note

I stared at the note. It was a list I had written for her. In my anger I had torn it up, left the pieces lying on the floor. After our fight, she wouldn’t need it anymore. I was losing her. Maybe this was my one last act of spite. Tiny pieces of paper, saying everything I wanted to scream out. After all these years, maybe I would just have to accept the things that would never change. But when I came home today, the note was there, sitting on the counter; she had taped it back together.