It was in a bargain bin - an empty book of lined pages, embossed on the front in gold leaf: Journal.

This Journal -to me- could be a story, a book of poetry - a collection of thoughts and musings. It is blank and it is mine for a bargain.

Did they not see the value when they placed this in the bargain bin? It could, in the right hands, be turned into a fantasy, a love story, an epic journey.  It doesn't have to be a Journal but maybe...

I pick it up and feel the weight of it in my hands - feeling the texture of the volume, earth-tone paisley with a gold ribbon down its center.

I open it and breath in the freshness of the pages - a smell like none other.

Perhaps this volume could be a gift given to a young person - to inspire a love of writing, to appreciate what it is to have your own words in a bound book.

Or do I keep it for myself? To begin the great American novel, full of characters and plot and some tragedy. People that I create, lives that I breathe air into, hearts that I break and heal all by just writing words.

All of this from a bargain bin and I got it first.