I’ve lost my journal. This makes me a bit sad. Very sad.
Maybe not very – I haven’t quite decided yet. It’s not that there is anything
in that colorfully bound little book of immediate importance, but there are
things I will never get back: random musings, a piece of my memory captured in
words.
I know part of writing is the mere, therapeutic act of getting down what
swims in one’s head – a large part, really. But another great part is the opportunity
to look back and read a moment in time, to reflect on a sentiment and smile at the
memories, brief though they might be, staring back up from the page.
