I’m a little heartsick. Something has been bothering me for the past week.
I think someone found and read my journal.
My journal which only has one entry in it, and which was written in a moment when I thought my heart would burst. I needed to get something out on paper. The something I wrote is intense and dramatic and nothing I would want anyone to see. We keep journals to write our most intimate thoughts down. To allow for a release when there is no other way. To document what we are feeling in that very moment. Stream of consciousness.
If someone read it, then I hope they will give me the latitude I deserve and realize that it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things. Nothing is different then it was before.
To use Matt’s word, it makes me feel more vulnerable then ever.