Love Finds A Home

February 3^rd

Dear diary,

         No. I believe I am a bit past the age where I should be saying “dear diary,” Perhaps instead, I should say, umm, Dear Silent Confidant. Yes, that is much better, though still not the best greeting. Still, that does not matter. My name is Hailey. Funny, I am a twenty-two-year-old woman and writing in a diary. I suppose it is not so weird, but it still feels a bit childish. No matter; the reason I got this diary, journal—yes journal sounds much more mature—is because I am moving to a new place. A new town. A new apartment. And a new job. The town is called Newford. It is a smallish town—not too small, where everyone knows your business, but not big enough to get completely lost in a crowd—with a lovely town center with shops and grocery stores. My new job is in that center as well. I believe I shall write here often now that I am heading for a new adventure, but for now, I must tuck you away as my plane has landed.

February 10^th

Dear Silent Confidant,

         I have not written in several days as I have spent much of the time settling into my new apartment. The furnishings are sparse at the moment, but the view out my window is lovely. My room overlooks the town center. I can see the tiny people scurrying around down below like ants. I can see the shop windows and the wares that are within them. And the best view of all is the cherry blossom tree beneath my window. It is beginning to bloom and I get to watch it unfold from the comfort of my window-facing bed. Later, I shall tell you a bit more about the town and my new work place, but for now I shall leave my writing off here.

February 21^st

Dear Silent Confidant,

I have met a man. No, that sounds too serious. What I mean to say is I have met someone. But not a romantic someone, just a person I crossed paths with. Well, I suppose I should explain in a bit more detail. I was walking to work—remember that I was supposed to write a bit about my new job, but I keep forgetting—I work at a bakery. It is called Sprinkled with Cinnamon. I suspect you were expecting me to have a more exciting job like a journalist or a company owner, but baking is what I love to do and this opportunity was too good to pass up. Anyway, I was heading to work when I saw this man. He was sitting on a bench two buildings away from where I work and I did not need to even pass him, but I was curious. I want to meet all the people I can, after all. But this man, he is not an ordinary man. He is…well how do I say this without sounding overly blunt. Though I suppose it does not matter since no one shall read this. (I really must find another word other than suppose, seeing it on this entry so many times would have driven my English teacher nuts. Oh, I can see his face now, eyes narrowed and looking down upon me as if I were a bug, lips in a tight line, wrinkles out in full affect.) Oh my, I keep getting distracted. Anyway, this man was homeless. Now before you begin to think (as if a diary journal could think) I have spoken to a random bum; I must tell you that he is not like the homeless people that are portrayed in movies. You know what I mean, covered in dirt, unkempt, rotten teeth, looking to steal from those who pass by. In fact, he looks quite normal. His clothes are clean, his hair is short and neat, and he is very polite. I haven’t gotten to know him much since I had to get to work, but something about him intrigues me.

March 5^th

Dear Silent Confidant,

I have begun to talk to Eric Brooks—the homeless man—every day. I hate to use the word homeless because it paints him in a bad light. He has merely fallen upon a spot of trouble, that is how he describes his situation to me. I forgot to mention that he is a young man, twenty-four. Just two years older than me. He is a very handsome man, but don’t worry that I am getting attached. He is merely a friend. I know that there is no way I could date Eric, not because he is beneath me in any way, but because it would not work out. Still, he is a good friend. In fact, I think tomorrow I shall talk to him after the bakery closes. Maybe I should bring him some treats from the bakery and we can talk. I don’t know all that much about him, after all. Friends must learn things about their friends after all. Yes, that is what I will do. And then tomorrow, I shall write about it.

March 6^th

Dear Silent Confidant,

After the bakery closed, I was preparing to buy some baked goods to share with Eric, pastries and the like. But when I told my boss what I was getting them for, she gave me a basket of the treats that did not get sold that day to take to Eric. He was grateful for the basket when I gave them to him, but insisted that he pay for them or work for them. I simply told him that those baked goods were not a charity offering. In fact, he was helping my boss. Those baked goods were usually given away or thrown out at the end of the day, because the bakery prides itself on only selling fresh items. He finally caved in and accepted the treats graciously and thankfully. And then, we talked. I told him about the reason for my coming to Newford, my family, and my new job. And he in turn told me about himself. I did not ask him—doing so would be horribly rude—but he told me how he came to be homeless. He had a business, a law firm. It was a reputable firm and he was a very good lawyer. However, his firm stopped getting much business. Then, the bills and taxes had gotten the best of him and he was forced to declare bankruptcy. He used some of the money he had saved from before and had gone to Newford, hoping to find work or a way to reopen his practice. He had found neither, which was why he now had no home. He still had some money, enough to keep him fed and clothed for a time, but he was still actively looking for work to no avail. I wish I could help him, (Not with handouts or anything like that) but I barely have enough money to pay my rent every month and keep myself fed and clothed. Still, I believe I shall do some searching of my own to see if I can find a place for Eric to work. He might not like my help—not because he is prideful, but rather because he doesn’t want to be a burden—but I would not be a good friend if I need not at least try to help him.

August 3^rd

Dear Silent Confidant,

         I know it has been a while since I have written. A long while indeed. I have been busy. During this time, I have learned something. I am in love. With Eric. I know I was confident that this wouldn’t happen, but I could not stop my heart from loving him. (That sounds incredibly cheesy, but it’s the honest truth.) Now, I don’t know what to do. I wish you could tell me what to do, but you cannot speak, hence the name “Silent Confidant.” I suppose I will just have to figure it out on my own.

August 15^th

Dear Silent Confidant,

I didn’t know what else to do, so I told Eric how I feel. And to my astonishment, he reciprocates my feelings. I cannot believe it. We talked for a while after that, figuring out what we should do with these said feelings. Eric says that he doesn’t want to officially date me until he is more financially stable (I forgot to mention that he got a job). I told him that there is no reason to wait, but he is adamant, which shows me how thoughtful he is. When I went to Newford, I did not know what to expect—I definitely did not expect to fall in love, but here I am—and now that I’m here, I am glad that I decided to come.