I walk past the aisle filled with my favorite chocolate cookies, the evidence of them still being carried in my midsection. The vitamin aisle causes me no pause, and I ignore my moms advice ringing in my ears to buy the Women's One a Day I ran out of a month ago. Being pulled past the aisles full of make-up, although I am in desperate need of some new blush, maybe even some new eyeshadow. I can't fight the force. My feet know where to go, I don't even have to think about it. I arrive and stop in front of my destination. The colors blend together like a a precious work of art belonging in a museum. My fingers caress the delicate fabrics, the beautiful images, and the strong bindings that hold everything together. My chosen gem is sitting on the very top shelf. The smell of the blank pages fills my mind with words, stories, poetry, images of things and people I want to hold on too forever. I don't know why the blank pages of a journal call to me as strongly as they do. I do know, however, that more than the keeper of my secrets, it opens a world full of wonder and possibilities.