Roma by Night.

There was a postcard on my floor when I came home the other day. The postman had slid it through my mail-slot and it landed picture side up. While I was taking off my work boots I examined the front and wondered who could have sent it to me. The entire front of the postcard was black except for the words, in gold and longhand, "Roma by Night". I thought it was a funny little joke.

When the boots were off I picked that postcard up only to find that it wasn't for me. It had the right address but was addressed to someone named James.

It read:

"I would have sent you a card from Paris, but Paris does not sleep. Have loved every bloody minute... Off to Barcelona tomorrow. Let you in on a secret, if we had gone to Paris instead of San Fransisco, you would have never returned.
-Love R."

The word "returned" was underlined three times.

I think it was the saddest thing I had ever read.

Postcards always say everything clearly.