This morning on the beach I noticed an unusual piece of junk.

The sea had given back this rusted, antique Remington typewriter.

Oh, the curiosities that came to mind!

Maybe a writer had tossed it overboard in a moment of frustration.

Maybe a storm swept it in from a foreign land.

Maybe it was Hemingway’s.

The typewriter was in recognizable but poor condition.

There were only a few keys left, but by some mysterious coincidence, the two initials that held the most significance to me. What are the odds!

I plucked them off and put them in my pocket.

It seemed to be a message from the universe: keep on writing. Or keep on loving. Or both.

I promise I will.