AN: This is the reason for the title.
He decided that he could leave her a message, a note, just to say that he had been there as her neighbor would no doubt inform her anyway. Besides he couldn't bring himself to leave without saying something…anything.
He checked his pockets for a pen and scrap of paper and found neither. He decided to go get them from his car and return rather than leave a verbal message with the neighbor. When he reached the car he grabbed a pen and a block of Post It notes from the glove compartment and headed back inside.
Sara no doubt knew that he was bad at condensing everything that he wanted to say into a simple sentiment, the plant card debacle saw to that. Once again he found himself with so much to say and a very small, very blank canvass. He started.
'I called by, you weren't home GG' He stuck it on her door.
No, not enough. Maybe another. 'Let's talk'
Maybe another, 'I'm sorry'. He had this one stuck on and another started before he even realized.
'I'm sorry for the last few months.'
'I'm sorry for the last few years'
'I need to talk to you"
'I have so much to say, I just don't know how'
'I was so wrong'
'Our timing sucks'
'Let's have dinner, maybe'
What had started as a tiny note to justify his presence became an emotional outpouring on paper. A series of short disjointed messages, each independent, but all interconnecting. What had started as a very small, very blank canvass, soon became a very large, door shaped canvass almost completely filled with each separate sentiment that he needed to convey. Only when he noticed that he had reached the end of the block did he realize what he had done. His last message was a question, the question he had come to have answered.
'Am I too late?'