To the Blog I've Abandoned

I'm sorry that I walked out on you months ago. It certainly wasn't fair to you. And I know we never talked about it.
But, you see, you were killing me.
I'm not ready to die. The thought scares me all too much. You scare me all too much. So, I left you and began hoarding all my poems, thoughts, and emotions to myself.
It was a wonderful time for me; I was free to write anything that I wanted and never had to worry of what you would think or how you would shudder to bear my mismatched words and phrases. I never had to worry about inconveniencing you at absurd hours, disrupting your dreamless rest with my unruly nightmares.
For it was in this new manner that I found life. Behind moleskinned covers, I made collages with my heart: knowing all too well that it was only myself that could ever make left from right in such a blotted mess. And I began to watch that scrapbooked heart of mine beat more and more with every additional stanza. Bread was broken and received with each new page. Wine was poured and consumed with every drop of ink.
Good gracious, blog, I felt loved!

But, as you can see, I've returned. I've returned for no other purpose than that I realized you were right. It's time to let you take this life from me.
Yes, there is a heart and a love thriving within my journal, but its pulse remains there, bound by thread and parchment. I lived in there for months and fostered this great life. However, the question slowly started creeping in. "If I'm growing this heart of mine, then certainly a harvest must be coming. So, who is it that's coming to pull me out of the dirt and rejoice for the fulfillment that I can help to provide?"
I realized I was my own farmer, and I was suddenly swept with despair. How frivolous would it be to uproot myself? Just another unwashed, unmissed, rotting carrot.
It was so clear. I needed a real farmer: someone to whom I can give myself and will tend to me even after the harvest comes.

So here I am blog. It's good to see you again.

(Genesis 2:8)