the first post... mortem

i used to keep a blog.

before that--ten years ago, before the advent of fast internet access--i used to keep a written journal. and before that--another ten years back, when computer monitors were monochromatic--i used to keep a diary.

all three were really just ramblings. my take on life, love, and lots of other things. things that struck me and jarred me the core of my being. things that irritated the hell out of me, or irritated me out of hell. things that made me feel a at peace with myself and a oneness with the world around me.

all three were really just meant to help me keep my sanity. to help me think. to help me feel. to help me see. wait. that's not entirely really true. now that i think about it, and having the 20/20 vision that comes with hindsight (and age, and maturity, and wisdom), it was really to keep my insanity from showing. (they say that there's a very fine line between genius and madness. everyday, i find myself toeing that line...and crossing it so often that i have forgotten where i initially started and where i actually am.)

all three were private. classified. eyes-only. i wrote for myself, not for anyone else. i wrote because a thought had to be written down...before it could disappear forever into the void where unthought out thoughts die. i wrote because an emotion had to be unleashed...before it could begin to gnaw on the fabric of my persona or fill me full to bursting. i wrote because an inspiration had to expressed...before it became forgotten clutter in the realm of dreams.

my diary, my journal, my blog.
in their pages were my thoughts, my feelings, my life.

and then,
one day,
i just stopped.

i became cynical. skeptical. detached.

life still held beauty and meaning, i knew, because i still experienced and saw. but i could not feel the oneness. i stopped toeing the line, and started walking on it, neither here nor there and going nowhere. i withdrew into myself... like a rose that decided to unbloom. like the moon that waned before reaching its full.

i erased my blog. i put my journal in my special shoe box, together with old letters and cards and pictures... the shoe box of memories rarely remembered. i don’t even know where my diary is.

and i stopped writing.

and then,
one day,
barely three weeks ago,
i wanted to write again.

why?
because i glimpsed the evening star. in the sadness of the sunset.