A Glimpse of Simplicity

#shortstories is an ongoing series of articles recounting some of our interesting real life experiences.

It happened on a rainy Saturday.

I was at my weekly job as a hostess in a restaurant, and as always, it was busy. It was pouring outside, and business was as busy as ever. An hour before closing, and the crowd was beginning to thin. A middle aged woman ran in, and handed me a leather bound journal, claiming that she found it outside in the rain.


The journal was exquisitely bound, with a reddish exterior full of decorative leather carvings and soaked through with rainwater. Knowing that such a possession will be dear to its owner, I patted it dry with a paper towel. After much internal deliberation regarding the invasion of privacy, I opened the journal to dry it thoroughly, and as I parted the pages, my mind was blown.

Sketches of anything and everything riddled the pages: A random dog with its tongue lolling out; a young women in a formal dress; a man sprawled on a chair, sound asleep in a very unflattering position; a random ornate door of a house; a mug on a coaster with it's content swirling and steaming; a hand holding a pen to paper, sketchception; and countless others I've lost recollection on.

I leafed through the journal as I patted it dry, a huge smile plastered on my face as I studied, in appreciation, the exquisitely drawn sketches. Ordinary scenarios that are so often overlooked took on new life and ethereal qualities as I saw them through the artist's pen, how he poured attention into these seemingly mundane sketches. Ink on paper seems so insignificant and unnecessary now, with smart phones and tablets in abundance, and so many of us overlook the indescribable feeling that old fashioned magic of ink on paper exudes. Perhaps it is a beckoning for us to stop and look around for hidden gems, a call for appreciation for simple things that so many of us dismiss as insignificant; and of course, I, being the hopeless romantic that I am, took it as such.

Soon, an artist called to inquire if the journal is in my possession, and with a simple affirmative from me, came to pick it up. He was a young man, not much older than me, with messy black hair and thick rimmed glasses. A simple exchange of thanks was the only interaction between us, yet through that leather bound journal, I felt a bond between us, as in those pages, I glimpsed into a part of him. I am an old romantic soul trapped in a younger body, and through this voyeuristic interlude, I found another similar soul that have an appreciation, however peculiar it might be, for the simplest of things.