I hesitate to write because I don’t want the truth jumping off the page?
I’m not afraid of that, am I? No, it’s more about the others that come behind.
What do I know, they’ll probably never read any of this.
The notebooks, the journals, are probably just filler for the trash bin of future times.
All of it just compost – a recyclable waste for days I’ll never see.
I won’t hear their comments, I won’t know what they will or will not do.
So why do I care?
I guess I just don’t want them to see
I failed.
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