Another Monday Morning

You walk across the street to her house and push on the front door. With ease, it opens. You poke your head inside to see a dismantled house with papers and photographs all over the floor, furniture turned over, and writing on the walls. You walk in to see that the photos on the ground are of you. You at work, you at home, you in town, almost every place, public or private. You then look at the writing on the walls.

It says...