I just picked up my journal from 5 years ago – a thing so full of complaint I am scared to open the frayed pages. I needed that then, but that’s not me anymore. Now I need a place for secrets – for emotions – because my emotions are all too often secrets (except when I’m drinking). These days I am happy – excessively so. Right now. But I’m scared because there are so many things that I haven’t felt – like love. I feel like I’ve lost that emotion in the wind and it’s disappeared – even the unromantic kind. Did I ever really know it? I ache, not love. But I ache a lot. I ache at beauty. I ache at friendship. I ache at the vivid memory of a mountain peak. Regardless, the ache is a feeling that is so strong it is my proof of humanity.