Max found her note on the dining table, after a run to the grocery store. It was a poem. He smiled as he read it, only to realise it wasn’t fictional. He didn’t know what she meant then, as he was reading it. But it said:
I am not as nice as I used to be
There’s an ugly side to me
A vicious need
Not to lie or pretend
But hide under the niceties
An illusion that I create –
I am good after all.
Every day I age,
I realise I don’t want to grow up.
Or hide. But I am frail.
I am so sorry Max.
He never saw her again, and now he knew.
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