"You are not the one."
It was written on a folded piece of light pink paper in black ink. Which, when I turned it over, was written on the back of a gas station receipt.
When you live in the city, you tend to stumble upon pieces of other peoples' lives. When you share this small space with large amounts of people, you're bound to find relics of others that have been somewhere before you. Often these relics are hard to decipher much like ancient relics--Egyptian ruins with exotic drawings or faded scrolls found deep in a dug-up tomb. Other times, like in this one line of text on a receipt, you're given clues to what might have been.