The Yellow Post-it's

He had no clue she was planning to suicide. He woke up as usual to an over-rated day of work of hard edged black suitcases and mechanical ties. His car, the latest in the market with Sony coaxial speakers XS to flaunt and a wood panelled dashboard, he had everything in his life. Or so he thought. It did not occur to him that, inevitable of riches, there was a missing puzzle to complete the jigsaw. He forgot that there was more to life than colourful creditcards and incentives. He forgot to live.
Thats why it surprised him when he stopped his car down that clean highway to pick up a wayside purple flower pierced through thorns, the one he noticed, through his frosted windshield while driving past. It reminded him of her. He tried almost immediately to place a call to her. Network troubles. A U-turn could have saved her. But he drove on, keeping aside his thoughts and focusing on his international flambouyant clientele.
The day wore on with crisp ironed suits while his thoughts strayed from time to time to that purple flower that was begining to fade. Lack of sunshine, you know. He had that ready smile for everyone. Almost plastic. He was the popular one in office. The competiton would kill to have such a guy whose dedication to work was well appreciated in the network. And well, it did kill unaware.
He shutdown his laptop getting ready to leave, and picked up that withered flower. It felt cold, because of airconditioning. He placed it on his dashboard and switched on the ignition. He took the same highway, driving past the sinking sun, homewards (home?) towards her.. when he recieved that fatal call. He screeched the car, the first sign of normalcy perhaps. He noticed that he was at the same spot where he picked the flower. He had picked it only for it to wither, instead of letting it grow. Silence.

He had bought her a necklace studded with diamonds and a blood red ruby for their anniversary, when a rare lily would have helped. He should have written in his post-it.