Thinking this is how it's out to be.

I miss writing out in my journal. I miss writing it out with a pen, and not typing it in. I wasn't going to write about missing writing longhand in my journal. I was going to write about the very off-week I had, but somehow I forgot about that and remember my journal. How I use to tape things in it. How I use to draw in it. Make it mine, and I went looking for it today. The journal I last wrote it. A damask fabric bound diary with beautiful embroidery, a gift from a coworker long ago for secret santa.
I can't find it. I can't find it. I know I only had a few pages to write in before I ran out but it was still a few pages and now I can't find it. I can't find that. I can't find my little black book where I wrote down my book list of books I wanted to read.

While I was searching I found this other diary that I never wrote in. My uncle gave it to me long long ago, while I was still in high school. The year 2003 is clearly mark in it. I think I'll start writing there. I never wrote in it, well because at that time I had a different diary I was writing in. Better late than never, but I keep hope I'll find both the purple diary and the black book of lists.