I missed you.

It was all she had written. The writing seemed so composed, each letter carefully written, strong, final. There was a slight tremor on the y, but it could have just been the wind, tugging at the sheet as she wrote her goodbye.

I found it tucked under her shoes, which rested neatly alongside that bridge we used to walk. It was winter, and cold, yet the shoes I found seemed more suited for a summer's day, like the ones during which we used to play.

I sat there on the edge, fingers idly playing with the tiny scrap of paper, as I stared out at the river below. It wasn't a terribly high drop… but we were never terribly good swimmers. From where I sat, it seemed impossibly daunting, the distance from bridge to waterline. I trembled, a passing breeze sending a shiver down my spine, and shrunk a bit deeper into my jacket.

I spent the measure of the night there, listening to the water course along below, gently clutching at her note.

I missed you.

I gently tucked her note back under her shoes, carefully setting them back in place. A light dusting of snow had come and gone during the evening hours, and I paused to dust off my own pair of shoes, resting awkwardly next to hers. They were old, worn things, barely suitable to look at, let alone wear.

I stood, and gingerly stepped back over the railing, shoes in hand. With the light crunch of snow between my toes, I proceeded to cross the bridge, watching as the sun crested the horizon.

"Maybe tomorrow."