She wrote her name

And then erased it.

She wrote the month

And then erased it.

She began to write a title

And erased it once more.

And then,

The paper tore.

Once on a white page of paper

With red margins and blue lines.

She wrote:

Thank you.

And then she laughed

At the absurdity.

Then erased the word thank

Leaving you.

And then she cried.

Just like the day at the church.

The day she knelt at the pews.

Once on a piece of paper

With coffee stains and smudges of dirt on the sides

Her marker bled through the page.

The way her tears did to her eyes.

She crumbled up the piece of paper and placed it in her bag.

And went along to school, to work.

Because that was all she now had.

One day, on a fresh sheet of paper

She took the originally torn paper,

The page with red margins and blue lines,

The piece stained with coffee and smudges of dirt,

And stapled them together.

On this fresh sheet of paper.

She took a deep breath and steadied her pen.

She titled it:

Mess.

Because that was what she was without him.

But laughed, knowing he'd say

That, that was what she was with him anyways.

And then she smiled for the first time today,

In a quirky kind of way.

Before she left,

She lit a candle by the grave,

Left the pieces of paper on the side,

And wished them both

A happy birthday.