The Post-it Always Sticks Twice

When I sat down to write about what happened and the conversation we just had explaining ourselves and really putting it all out there as to why what happened two weeks ago happened, I drew a blank. Not a writer's block blank -- more of a "we exhausted it like many a phone conversation" blank.

All that was left in me was what I fear (and know) I said over and over on the phone tonight. I just couldn't do it anymore. And as much as I know it hurt, I couldn't.

Sometimes things are best said through television. From the moment I realized I had to do what I had to do, all I could think of was when she realized he was gone, looked at her computer screen, and saw the post-it:

I'm sorry. I can't. Don't hate me --