A black
cup that knocks over allowing its contents to spill across the surface is
just like my journal which allows it to let the words come out and shine. The
black leather journal that occupies my lonely tan desk spills its contents to
me. The words flow out like a tipped glass. Black, blue, and red ink takes over
the pages, making an unknown drawing. Anyone who dares to lift the cover is overwhelmed
with a whirlwind of words known as my journal.
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