Once I was buying some stuff at a shop and the shopkeeper was using torn pages from a notebook to wrap the items he was selling. Along with that notebook, he had some other notebooks as well, but I was attracted to a notebook, which was written in very good handwriting, although its pages were in tattered condition.
I asked the shopkeeper from where he got it. He replied, “From a scrap seller.” On my request, he readily agreed to give it to me for free.
This notebook was nothing but a personal diary, a treasure trove of someone’s memories. It was anonymous and had no name or address on it, but every word was relatable to me.
I wondered how much time, effort, and above all emotions would have been put in by the owner of this diary, which has now become junk for the very world he loved…
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