“Hi there.

“You’re cute. I mean, I don’t just mean what you look like. Like, your personality is cute. The way you do things is cute. And I don’t mean you ‘act cute,’ no, that’s something entirely different. I think it’s because you’re nice to me, and I like that. You’re kind, you’re funny, and you’re not afraid to be yourself. Of course I found it amusing that time you were rolling around in the grass, or that time you jumped into a bed full of stuffed animals, or that time you cried at the movies with me. Being with you makes me not just smile, nor just happy, but it brings me… familiarity. It brings me peace, you know? Sorry if it all sounds too cliche, in fact, I find apologizing for being cliche is cliche in itself, but—ahh, I digress. You know me, always off on some tangent. Hah, speaking of which… remember how we met? I’m pretty sure I was making some lame math joke, and you actually laughed at it. In fact, didn’t you say that you found me cute at first? Funny how things change. Funny how things have changed…”

- Letter left on tombstone, last Tuesday.
Half washed away, drenched by rain.
No goodbye was said, but what remained?
“I love you,” in breaking pain.