TORN BITS of PAPER by the bench swing in the park leave me wondering: What’s their story? What happened here?
My mind just takes off, imagining the possibilities – an unneeded page of notes, a note passed in class, a love letter torn up in anger? Who knows, but the person who tore it up may have a change of heart and come back for them?
I don’t want to know the answer.
I don’t pick them up and piece them together.
I take a picture, though. Just to remember the fun I had, thinking about it. I lost that ability for a long time. This year it came back to me. I guess I just wanted a reminder that I got my joy back. I got my life back.