After buying you from the store, I remember the excitement of the fresh new pages I would write in, I remember the soft touch of the cover, I remember the wonders of how many doodles I will fill it up with, I remember the wonders of how many stories I could tell.

The contact of my pen to your sheet of paper seemed almost like magic, how I was fascinated that I can spill my thoughts to you, spill all the illustrations that colored my mind to you.
You had the key to my soul, friend. I decorated you with many colors of markers and crayons. And mostly, I decorated you with the colors of my imagination.

You held the dreams of mine, you held the different fantasies I wished to live in, you held the words together I have spoken into ink.
My friend, Notebook. You are the only one to know what's buried in my mind. The only one to know who I actually am. The only one to hold a new blank page to start over with if I messed up on the previous page, so I could illustrate new illustrations, And so, My friend, Notebook. I could also illustrate new beginnings.

You are the one who kept both my messy scribbles and fine sketches.
The one who accepted the imperfections of mine.

And when it comes to the day when you're finished with. You will be put away, buried into the bottom of the box. And you will be forgotten of, but when I open you again in the later future, may the sketches and words re-tell the stories we had told each other.

Sincerely, your friend, Human.