The diary

There was truly something magical about this antique shop.

I walked through the door and couldn’t believe my eyes.

There was a book, a diary per se.

A peculiarly beautiful diary with leather bound hardback consisting of creamy papers yellowed a little by age.

A kind of book that must have existed for about twenty nine years at least, with a soul that survived decades preceding that.

My own soul.

(c)boringbug