The other day at one of my go-to-writing cafes, a women sat down at a nearby table, took her journal our of her purse, wrote for a bit, put the journal back, and sat pensively; she repeated the procedure two more times. She purchased no coffee.
This journal writer wore a print frock with a matching bow in her graying hair. She appeared to be in her sixties, but trying to look younger. When she left I was tempted to follow her, but alas, I didn’t because of all those rules that extend past reading someone’s journal to include prying into her life.
Sometimes I just hate my rules because I want to discover secrets that are not mine to know.
(I’ve thought long and hard about breaking my rules by posting her photo, but have concluded she will remain anonymous. You may agree, you may not. It’s a decision up for grabs.)