The note lay on the end table.
A plain notebook. Nothing to adorn it except the perfect lettering within.
The pencil lay like the sword it was.
It should be covered in blood.
It was the instrument that let us know the outcome of the words.
Such mournful words that emanated such hurt.
But to know the woman was to know kindness in the darkest of times.
To know her was to have the gentle kiss upon your brow to ease your pain.
A gift on your doorstep to brighten your day.
A kind word on her lips to make your smile wider.
Yes, she was that joyful soul.
Or so you thought.
So you saw when directed towards you but we now know those words shed light on a dreamer, a woman who felt hopeless and rejected.
The words etched so carefully upon the page read;
"She did not need much, wanted very little. A kind word. Sincerity. Fresh air. Clean water. A garden. Kisses. Books to read. Sheltering arms. A cozy bed and to love and be loved in return."
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