Stones and Arrows

She opened the crumpled paper carefully.
It was more than just another oddity spring cleaning turned up, though it was found buried in the corner with a heap of credit card receipts and discarded napkins.
The letters were scrawled in a familiar hand. It was only the ink she didn’t recognize.
She slouched down into the kitchen-table chair that resided next to a clutter she called affectionately, “computer desk.” The kids were screaming about something in the backroom.

Sometimes sound has no meaning.

Bills were pushed aside. The computer bleeped to say that Tom had just signed in.
She laid the paper down in the small clearing in front of the keyboard. She didn’t like the strange silence of this new one as her fingers flew across its keys.
Her eyes lingered over the paper, then she got up to find her cup of coffee. Then she sat back down. Then she got up again as there was no lighter to spark her cigarette into a flame.
Before calling in the kids to find it, she looked at the words one more time.
Written as neat as could be managed, “First love shoots you with an arrow, then life throws stones at it. I understand.”
She let the kids be. She lit her smoke over the stove.