this morning after i’d made tea (licorice cinnamon) i sat down at the kitchen table to light the dribbly candles and write in my journal. i do that every day. but today, for the first time in my life, the match cracked as it lit; the top part fell off and landed on the open pages. i put it out in a second, but it still burned a little hole through the rest of the week. i mended it with scrap paper, a glue stick and pritt roller. it’s not pretty but it’ll hold. let’s hope it’s not an omen.
i’m looking at it as a challenge. i am, after all, the girl who has thrown away entire notebooks before because i didn’t like the look of one of my t’s on the first page. but i’m getting better, and i’m learning: damaged doesn’t mean ruined. imperfect doesn’t mean worthless or ugly. my journal is something i use every day. it would be stranger if it didn’t have the odd spot or tear or, ehrm, scorch mark. it gives Character and Patina! people pay for that sort of thing, and here i am getting it for free.
and i can be glad it burned into the future, not the past. no words lost.