I wondered why this girl would waste so much of her precious paper writing about her life. Why did she cling to the memory of her life? What exactly did she intend to do with the memories? If nothing else, would they not be a constant reminder of the life she used to lead. And in contrast, what she has now. What good could a dead family do for her anyway.
What were her intentions with this, memoir, I thought. What was she going to do, publish them?
“What a ridiculous idea”.
But a senseless curiosity within me cared to know the answer to my own question. But was that all she was capable of? As far as I could understand, these scraps of paper resembled a confessional booth. What exactly did she intend to do with the papers, publish them? I had no idea, but a large part of me wanted to know.