I do not remember when I started these journals. It was maybe in 2013 or 2014 when too many and too much was happening in my life most of which were not good. So here they are pictured. Most of them are full and some still waiting for the ink to touch them. Even the ink has a story.
They contain what people would say — chicken scratches that tell a mostly sad story. Some pages contain some stories that I will be silent about. And some of these inks I may have already forgotten about.
These journals will be burned when I pass.