Burn This Note

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Burn this note. Burn this note for I don’t want it to live. I don’t want the memory to find a place it feels safe. It had to be shared with you and you alone but only for now and never to be mentioned. Don’t even admit you read it. Let it die in your memory and maybe it will die in mine. Burn this note. Sometimes, I wake from a deep slumber to a jolt of fear. Fear I overslept. Fear I didn’t hear him cry in the night. Then the fear turns to torment and overwhelming grief again and again. Every single time as the truth comes and overwhelms me with cruel reality and the knowledge his sweet green eyes closed long ago. . . long ago. Burn this note. Burn this note.

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UPDATE: I'm sorry this has been so slow in developing but the real world has been in the way and, I'm not ashamed to admit this, the memories I have to bring forth do not always inspire me to write. Instead, they make me want to play those old songs and wallow in the memories for too much time to admit. I do write, though, and there is much more coming soon -- filler for the notes and hints of events. Those words are coming.

I know it is hard to read a lot of disjointed notes and keep any kind of interest. The "meat" will find its way.

Let me add. I have written the last part. No, that is not really true. Jane wrote the last part but I have finally come to realize that note, that long, painful note is the only way for this all to end.