There was a journal, leather bound, medium in size and filled with crisp, unlined pages. It sat on the shelves of a cozy little shop waiting for a writer to hug it tight and bring it to life. It wasn’t long before the Universe delivered its wish. One starry Wednesday night seemed to be the perfect moment for this journal’s true journey to begin.

The soul who chose this journal had a lot of thoughts. She was a writer at heart, a dreamer in the mind and a galaxy within. The journal connected to the soul’s creativity in her veins and drive in her heart – together they would make a magical team.

The first entry was always the scariest for both the journal and the soul. Something about ruining the first blank page scared her. And for the journal, the feeling of the pen hitting its smooth paper skin or the words burning into its essence brought a little fear. But, what’s a true victory without a little practice of courage?

So, she untied the string that held this journal together, opened the leather folds of the cover and rested her hand on the first blank page. She took a deep breath and began writing. And while the soul was still courageously getting into her zone, the journal had lost all fear. When the soul’s hand rested on its skin, they were connected forever. Touch has the power of creating magic, remembering emotion and connecting beings together eternally. In the purity of her small hands, dainty fingers and callused scars – the journal knew love would always be her quest and that took away any fears.

The journal soaked in her deep, adventurous and raw words. She wrote about change, about growing, about missing someone, about moving forward but most importantly, about her truth – her feelings. Her rhymes felt special on its crinkly pages and her honesty was soothing to the journal. As she wrote a piece of her story, the journal read a piece of its own.

And with their first meeting finished, she folded the leather cover, wrapped the tie and placed her hand on its smooth soul. The journal smiled through the insides of the pages and continued to dive into her words. Her words were words this journal would be reading forever and ever.

Some poems, a song, and a few unfinished drafts later, the journal and the soul were bonded. The soul would pick up this journal usually at night, right before she drifted off into dreamland but was still awake enough in her waking land. The journal patiently waited all day for those nights when it could dive into her pen’s interpretation of her feelings and her erased words – for those were the words that spoke the loudest. She took her time in filling the journal’s precious pages, as the journey of completing a journal was a life in its own. She cherished the feeling of more blank pages, it let her imagination play around more and somewhere inside, she truly felt the journal was alive.

And that’s what the journal loved, it’d found a soul who believed in the Universe, who believed in love and who believed in IT.