• the bed felt cold. he turns to his side, yawning. he stretches his arms across the vast mattress, he feels nothing. he opens his eyes, revealing his black eyes, and only sees the whiteness of the sheets and no lover. he stares at her side of the empty bed for minutes before his brain finally processed to him that something was wrong. she never leaves without his sleepy kisses. he gets up from the bed and searches the closet. her vintage skirts and gypsy scarves from around the world hang neatly with no ruffles and her gothic boots rest like tombstones, untouched. he flies over to her cubby corner in the room. her fish, ignis, swims like if nothing happened. her laptop was gone, along with her scissors, her red pens and wallet. everything this writer needed she took. he finds her purple stick notes pasted on the wall in an odd pattern. they lead a trail out the room. he grabs his boxers and a shirt and follows them. they lead him to the kitchen where she left him his favorite morning meal, trix cereal with strawberry milk, a cup of coffee and pixie stixs. then the sticky notes lead out of their apartment. he grabs his jacket and sweats and runs down the hall, following the purple notes. they lead him outside. he flings the doors open and scans the area. at the corner there was a scene. a bus crushed on its side rammed into their favorite coffee store. the notes are paste on the brick walls and lead to that spot. he pushes his way past the mass of cries and yells. he peers over the cop's heads and see her. she lies motionless next to the pile of glass. the sticky notes end there. he yells in grief and paunches his way to her. he falls to her side, carrying her braided head to his chest. he cries for a long time, till finally the rain came in. washing away his lover's bloody face. finally he notices something in her right hand, the last purple sticky note. he delicately removes it from her brown finger nail painted hand and unfolds it...the rain washed away the ink....