Twelve pens in a plastic package: plum, navy, brown, lime, turquoise, pink, orange, purple, green, red, blue, black. They sit nestled together, waiting to bring the pages of my journal to life. I feel the thrill of potential, that siren call to make something beautiful out of words. I will no longer stay in the comfortable realm of elegant black ink; I venture out as an explorer, ready to discover new landscapes and try new cuisine. I consider all the unwritten words, unsaid things, untold stories. My pens and I are ready.

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