In travels far and moments near,
A journal waits, a confidant dear.
Minimalist in its gentle guise,
Where modern meets the old, and wise.

Softbound in faux leather's embrace,
Recycled tales in its base.
An elastic binding, gently holds,
Stories new and memories old.

Within its folds, a card slot lies,
For names and faces that time defies.
Refillable pages, a thoughtful grace,
A story's cover, but not its face.

Not bulky, yet space it grants,
For dreams that grow like potted plants.
Sweet in size, in weight so light,
A traveler's companion, day and night.

Eighty grams of paper, unlined,
For sketches, plans, thoughts entwined.
Half coated for a pen's smooth dance,
In soft cream hue, a soothing glance.

Specs of craft, dimensions clear,
In hands it rests, a treasure dear.
Eighty pages, twice endowed,
For tales in ink, whispered or loud.

A tri-fold closure, snug and neat,
A journey's pause, a restful seat.
In travels wide, in life's grand journal,
This book, a friend, in time eternal.