There is no such thing as safe. I had never stopped and thought about why a safe was called a safe until now.  I had a safe. A small one. It was stolen this week. I did not lock the front door and someone walked in and went straight to my closet at took it. Had to be someone I knew. Someone my son knows. They knew where it was. Drug addiction is why they took it. I am sure. I wonder what they thought was in it. It had mostly sentimental things. My ex husband wrote me love notes on 2 dollar bills. He wrote them for our children too. Those where in the safe. Along with some jewlrey of my Grandmothers and important documents and such.  My safe was not safe enough.  It gave me a false sense of security. Whoever felt the need to steal my safe also felt the need to use my bathroom to relieve themselves. We know it was a man because the seat was up. My house, my room, my safe, or not.

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