Writing Pages

The other night, when it was so warm, I started a private journal. I sat by candlelight trying to conserve energy and started filling the pages of one of the many blank journals that fills my bedside table. It’s just a plain journal with its dark blue cover, nothing with a golden binding or a beautifully designed cover. I had hoped to find something beautiful for the words, but then I suppose the words inside are what matter. As in all things, the real beauty is not on the surface but in this case, within the pages.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: