I switched notebooks today. My parents bought me my previous one when they were visiting me in Florida. It had wooden covers and lined pages, which meant it couldn’t be drawn in and it never looked that good gluing cute notes and memories onto the pages. It was just writing, handwriting that started of nice but then lost it somewhere halfway through. The last page is always an important one, and I wrote on it: this was not pretty, just used. It’s sad, but also not sad, with times like that. Not pretty, just used.