Read a Diary Page Left Open

Their notebook was open on the desk, a page covered in neat handwriting. I told myself I'd only glance to close it. I read the first line, then the next, then the whole page. It wasn't about me, which almost made it worse, because it was truly private. I put it back exactly as it was and acted normal. Later, I carried that knowledge into conversations, nudging things like I hadn't stolen it. I've never confessed because I'd lose the moral high ground I don't deserve.