This leather bound notebook holds my thoughts. It holds every emotion I have ever felt, scribbled down between 26 parallel lines placed evenly down the page. Each slip of paper holds a new story; a confession from deep with in the confines of my heart. I can’t seem to find the answers in my mind, but the second the pen meets the paper, the truth is revealed in the words on the page.
Each day, the brown string attached to the binding travels further and further through the book as more pages are filled with pointless ramblings about love and loss. Once the string meets the last flimsy page, words get crammed into every last corner of the paper. Then, the book is closed and put onto a high shelf to collect dust and another leather bound notebook, similar to the last, is purchased only to go through the same process.
I look beneath my bed at the box of leather bound notebooks and wonder what will come of them. In twenty years when I finally have it right, I will flip through each tattered piece of paper, reading all the scribbled down words of a lonely teenager and realize how each page helped me find a new piece to the puzzle. Each heart break prepared me for the time when it would actually work out. The lessons learned would finally make sense and I would understand why it never worked with anyone else. I hope someday, the pages filled in my leather bound notebooks change from depressing stories about loss to beautiful stories about successful love.