You feel luxurious. My pen glides across your pages like a swan on a lake. My pen swirls and turns, loops and swerves until my hand suddenly drops. Hazily, I realize that my lake cloud has taken the shape of a piece of paper once again.
It could be that your first couple months of this line-a-day journal are pretty similar ("still quarantined, played Animal Crossing, ordered delivery from Ramen Bowls") but maybe you'll emerge with a solid habit of documenting your life.
