What if I began posting here again, without sharing why I needed to spend time away, of what I did during that time? What if I began posting without sharing a gallery of catch up pictures?
What if I just opened a new post and wrote about how the year and my cycle of creativity has turned so that I am once again facing this site, facing the friends who come here to witness what I share?
What if I didn’t spill my blood across the page in the guise of ink, and instead I kept the struggle wrestling just beneath the words, the sentences creating enough intrigue to make you, my friend, want to join me again?
What if my writing stopped sleeping between the covers of my journal and broke free from the quiet ruled lines, the endless loop of the writer’s mind to the writer’s hand, so that the circuit was shorted by another responding heart and mind?
What if I just sneaked back into my blog, without fanfare, and began once more to chart my writing life here, to chart this new autumn cycle of my creativity?
What if I just began posting here again, without apology, without explanation?