44

No it's not a gun, a malt drink minus one a waist size or a world war II year it's not the temperature in early springs not a Vick's cough syrup it's none of these things it's the number of volumes of journals/diaries, call them what you will that chronical my life the victories, the joys, the hurts, the friends, lovers, and the strife my hopes, dreams, poems and much much more still only one other person in this world has been privy to it, and now knows what's been in my head from 1967 right on until now that one is my sweet Rose only Rose knows I wrote these long lasting journals- a release for me to use, with a dark secret, or crazy thought things that have happened to me things that have come to naught many silly, stupid entries much wisdom, brilliance too, you never know just what you'll get you can count on that to be true but someday...when I am long. long gone... maybe someone somewhere will see what my time was like, what was going on.... see, when my family first moved into the family house of 50 years we found a few great treasures one very special on, which did bring tears for in this somewhat faded diary from 1863, a life in all its colors did open up very wide for me to see I felt honored, touched, and somewhat sad, to think this sweet soul was so long gone she spoke from the heart, and showed me a world I could never taste, and now I knew her life had never been a waste because she reached out thru the centuries, to tell me her tale of life it seemed to me to validate her being was more than a long forgotten, faded tombstone, a name, maybe with a year and for a moment somehow she had become, someone who was right here.