Ah, yes, the scars on leather—each one a whisper from its past. It’s like the cloth in my tapestries; the frayed edge hides a whole saga of sun, rain, and a forgotten battle. I always think that a surface is a parchment waiting for a tale. So, yes, I feel the journal’s grain is its own storyteller, telling of hands that have held it, of places it’s been. Keep listening to those scratches; they’re probably narrating a legend you’ve never heard.