I once had this journal that I fell in love with at first sight. I lusted after it. I was so enamored that I destroyed my budget to make it mine and make it mine I did, consequences be damned. It was a deep forest green leather smothered in intricate knot work branding and filled with the creamiest lined pages I'd ever felt. To be near it was a sensual experience, it was erotic, it was everything I'd ever desired in a writing partner.
It took me months to figure out what to write in it. I'd have an idea and then once I pulled the journal from its special resting place (for it was far too great to slum with the ordinary writing tools of everyday use) the wrds in my mind would fall flat as I realized they were unworthy. I ached to join my mind's creations with that journal yet nothing ever felt right.
The amazing thing about all this frustrated yearning was that it fueled my creative abilities in ways nothing ever had before. In always seeking for anything to fill the pages of that book I created more works in those months than I had at any previous time. It was a glorious era of frenzied passion and for that I have always been grateful to the unexpected muse I found in that notebook.
This was far more relevant to the prompt than what I posted, and I chose this prompt, lol. Awesome, thanks for posting. Hope you didn't feel pressured.
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