He left love notes whenever he could.
Not for his partner. Because he didn’t have one.
Instead, he left them for strangers.
In the condensation of a coffee shop window he drew a heart with a smiley face, his own mouth lifting at the thought of the next person to see it.
In the second hand bookshop he left a handwritten haiku in the pages of Lucky Jim, the words romantic and unpretentious.
In the park he left a modern art postcard in the railings, his favourite lyrics from Coldplay’s Yellow written in gold.
Because everyone loved to feel loved.
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