Subtle Reminders

He had the habit of leaving me small notes and I used to love them. A familiar handwriting, the smell of scented paper, words of warmth and his voice through that.

The comfort that the heart yearned for, while my fingers ran through the half empty bed and beneath the pillow covers to reach the note.

Only this time, it was different.

The words conveyed what my ears refused to hear. The paper smelt like another woman and shimmered with shades of her mascara.

“Will be late”, it read.

I heard his voice and her smile.

I wished that the habit had left with him.