And now I sit, reading a journal - written many years in the past - of someone dear to my heart. A man of such strength, of held emotions and reserve. Never really reflecting on the past, nor drawing it to the present, and yet, after finding his journal, he himself is reading it. He reads some entries, then continues on...and I, sitting here, feet from him, feeling how this affects him. I don't even know what to say to him. I wish I could take the pain away. I wish there was something I can... read more
