journal

Deep in the
Garden District,
on the other side
of the turnpike,
I stumbled across
a garage sale.

There were no toys
to be found,
and very little
in the way of
kitchen appliances,
but I did find
an old, battered
journal.

It had a plain
brown cardboard
cover and
a tin nameplate
with no name,
and when I opened
it up, the inside
cover had one
simple word
scrawled on it
in erratic cursive:

BECAUSE.

That was
good enough
for me.

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