I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

Y’know what? I took notes on what it was like before, during and after. I have it all down on paper: the question & answers, the doubts and flailing emotions. Still, I don’t know or remember what it is like to be in love with someone. I think I might be in love now, but I might just be grasping at straws. Somehow, these writings and this feeling seem all too familiar to me, but I can’t relate the past to the present day mayhem of my feelings, I wish it would just happen, good or bad, I wish it would just strike me in the heart.

I can’t remember exactly what it feels like to be in love right now, either. I don’t mean to say it like a sad thing, it’s just how it is. I have a vague recollection of it bringing a thrill and an inner peace, some kind of sanctity – but try as I might I can’t re-create it. That’s probably a good thing. It makes me want to seek it out again.