I found a card in a book with a personal message. Of course, I read it.
At this bookstore on Tchoupitoulas Street, I found a card in a book that said, "I never will know if my dad is alive or why he left us."
I never had a close relationship with my father. Reading someone else's confession is a commiseration, a recognition that I am not alone in my feelings.
So, thank you, stranger, to the one who left a message in a book.
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