I found these unknown diary entries in a tattered old book of The Doors Of Perception by Aldous Huxley I got from a second hand shop.
They were folded up and fragile. They are dated 12/08/05 and 17/08/05.
I found them funny, sad and fascinating. They give a beautiful, brief insight into people and a relationship I otherwise know nothing about. Lives I’ll never know. How love can be innocent and simple, tough and fickle, and how a walk to Tesco can sometimes carry a deeper meaning.
And the final page, undated: