when you wake up tomorrow
i will be gone. my space in the
bed will be empty, but i'll fold
the sheets on my side back neatly,
it'll be as though i was never there.

don't panic. the key is
under the mat, the same
place we always put it,
even though i've told you a
thousand times that there are
a million better hiding places for it.

there's a bowl of fruits on the table, i
bought them this afternoon while
you were away at work. i should
have put them in the fridge, but
i thought you'd like to see how
pretty the apples are before you
cut them apart.

my gray toyota will be gone from
the garage, but that's the only thing
i'm taking with me, i promise, aside
from the clothes on my back. i'll sit
in that car, eighty an hour and the
radio loud, trying not to think about
leaving you behind without a goodbye.

i see your face in my mind
as i drive away, your forehead
crinkled the way it always is when
you don't understand something. you'll
read this note and wonder why i left,
but please, don't look for me.

some say love is holding on,
some say it's letting go,
and all i know as i turn the key in the ignition
is that some journeys have to be made alone.
i know you're probably hurt, lost and afraid,
but so am i. i don't know why i know
within myself that this is the right thing to do,

but don't wait up for me.