Dear Red John

I woke up to my ‘Dear John’ letter taped to what was, up until then, her pillow.

At first, all I could think about was that she’d used the last of my black ink to print the letter.

But after a while I could focus, and I tried to think things through.

Ignoring the red mist that threatened to cloud my vision, I quickly discarded the notion to make some huge stupid gesture to try and win her back. She always hated that sort of thing.

I was about to accept acceptance when her ‘new man’ knocked on the door.