The cover was sheer, with a hint of a sparkle, and was the brightest shade a green without being neon. My first journal.
Ever since I could remember, I have always had a book or journal or something to allow me to fill my thoughts. Despite loathing english, writing, grammar, and language arts classes in school, I enjoyed writing in my journals. In them, no one judged my sentence structures, my proper use of punctuation, or my ability to capture the audience. Writing in those journals was my release.
Whether I was angry, scared, confused, happy, excited, melancholy, or anything….I had a place to allow these emotions to flourish and allow myself to further understand just what exactly was going through my mind.
I have never considered myself "a writer" nor do I claim that my writing is something worth reading for the masses, but sometimes when I do not have a voice,
my words do.
Today, I am thankful for writing.