Small instants of time

What my notebook shows about me and the passage of time

On their own, they are nothing more than loose pages, with loose sentences, written in different colours of ink.

Slowly, as I read them, I realise that they transport me to different times and places, where there are different people.

I realise that they don't form a coherent whole, but they can almost be read as a novel. I can clearly identify the narra…