A notebook in the pocket

I keep a notebook in the pocket of my suit.

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Not the sleek digital kind that syncs to the cloud, not a tablet disguised as stationery, but a small, slightly battered paper notebook that feels like an anchor. It stays with me wherever I go. Sometimes it lies forgotten for hours, pressed flat against my chest; sometimes I pull it out three times in a ten-minute walk because a sentence, an idea, or a memory insists on being written down before it evaporates.I have come to see it as my private fight against time-against age, against the blur of days, against the quiet deterioration of memory we all pretend won't reach us. It is my way of holding on to the thoughts that might otherwise slip through the cracks of routine and fatigue. A scribble today might be a lifeline tomorrow: a reminder of something I felt deeply but would have forgotten if left unrecorded.