Ere walking over to the mailbox, I complained aloud that I couldn’t think of anything worth writing about. Then as I went across the street and looked down, I found an overly-used piece of lined paper folded and tucked in a sandwich bag.
With a habit of picking up anything I find, I did likewise with this, knowing that I’d look to see what it was first before tossing it in the trash. But after seeing and reading and rereading it, I think I’m gonna hold on to it.
I also have something greater to share…
At first, I thought it was some school kid’s doodle pad, but the more I read, the more I realized that I was looking at the ‘journal’ of a homeless man. I say ‘man’ only because I read ‘ex-wife,’ among the many scrawls on this single and most singular piece of paper.
Life can be so wickedly hard, and this is the written proof.