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A little over 9 ounces. That’s how much this notebook weighs—weighs in the world of scales and balances.

It weighs so much more for me.

There are no words in it yet.

Each page is a clean crisp field waiting to be sown.


The lines have to be straight.
The lines have to be perfectly spaced.
The lines have to be beautiful and complex.
The lines have to say something.

That’s how much this notebook weighs, sitting in my pocket, blank and perfect.

Perfect and beautiful.

It waits to be marked, scarred, adorned.

And it grows heavier in its waiting.

I know that each word will lighten the load.

I know each word I sow helps carry the burden.

And I know once this notebook—which weighs a little over 9 ounces but also so much more—is full, it’ll weigh nothing at all.