Last week I was in Starbucks, pausing to have a latte and just relaxing with a friend. I noticed a young man beside me with a computer and a journal and an ink pen. I was delighted..he had the laptop with earphones but also had an ink pen as he wrote in his journal with flowing script.
Who knows what he was writing, poetry, reflections, perhaps his Christmas list, but it did not matter. What matters is that he was writing.
Writing is unfortunately a lost or dying art. Although there are many beautiful journals that are sold in bookstores and stationary stores, I have never seen anyone actually write in them except for this one occasion in Starbucks. What do people do with the journals they purchase? Maybe they write secretly at home, or perhaps they don't write at all, choosing instead to display their lovely leather journals over their fireplace as momentos of the lost art known as writing.
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