And so I sit, poring over two legal contracts, ink spread blurry in their facsimile form, with magnifying glass in hand to help clarify the handwritten notes. The last few times, the last few unsigned contracts, one alone held eighteen errors. I grow bitter and resigned to this incompetence and deceit and yet go on. Things I want not to know are made the clearest. "Solomonette" someone had dubbed me, but justice has weighed heavy on my head and questions its own sense. Fortune and Misfortune go hand in hand and what, as Boethius says, are their nature after all, but temporary. But enduring are their effects when fraught with man’s intentions thus discovered. An overwhelming sadness accompanies any hope an offer brings.
And still my hair is ever growing greyer and my eyes are weary for the sharpening.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology