Letters: Found

         Letters fill the desk in which I sit. Not the regular papers the ones filled with answers for the test. Not the ones where they talk about this girl, or that boy. Not what you would expect. These notes are filled with hurt. You can tell in the way the jagged lines run across the page, creating words and pictures. You can tell in the way there are little wet spots on the paper, crinkling it and smudging the words.
         Surprisingly though the paper isnât ripped where the words are written, the person who previously owned this seemed to treasure the words. As if knowing, no matter what, those words are a part of them.
         To keep the notes private for the unassuming student who left it in the desk, I het up from my seat. Making my may to the trash can in the corner of the room, I crumple up the papers and toss it inside. Then I return to my desk and sit to listen to the rest of the boing lecture that had led me to search through the desk.