Beginnings

A love letter to my first journal, and the person who gave it to me.

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When you gave me my first journal,
it was gamboge yellow and stiff in my hand,
leafy pages pressed and fluttering
with every nervous rustle;
my fingers were eager to fill each line
with my own unique slant.

You left it at my doorstep,
with a sticky note on the front page,
saying (I still have it):

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“for the recording and celebrating of what is turning out to be my greatest adventure” – b

And the floodgates unleashed;
I was a memoirist machine,
filling journal after journal,
hitting one experience, emotion, insight after the other,
soon setting goals for what kind of writing came next.

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Now I sit here typing this, reflecting back:
could this blog exist without you?
In another parallel universe, yes I’d like to think so.
Writing is such a part of my being,
how couldn’t it be clearer?

But in this one, I embraced it only
after holding that first, filled book in my hands.
And now that I know,
I want to see where it leads.

Thank you for that first gift of a journal,
for saying without words:
“It’s ok, I know this of you. 
Go ahead; 
Write.”

 

2 thoughts on “Beginnings

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