.

This is going to sound vain. I can’t explain it.

Or maybe I can.

I’ve read a few emails, tweets and Facebook posts asking me where I’ve been.

Truth? I’ve not written much since meeting my ex-stripper-friends in Vegas this MAY.

Too close too home. Like watching a movie where the final scene scrapes your spine. Nails on gravel.

I love those women. Who they’ve become. The strength and character they possess.

It’s just that, in meeting them after over two decades, I struggled to find myself.

Where was my strength? Did I have character, or was I victim to the well-oiled machine of The Writer wanting to be heard? The one who’d share her story of stretching out on life’s gurney. It’s wheels filled with self-doubt and coveted solace.

I needed space from my inner most self – my truth. I needed the sand in her hourglass to fall effortlessly in to the air.  My space is finally settling.

This is going to sound vain. But I don’t care. I feel your love and appreciate your noticing this empty chair.

I’m back.

Thanks for keeping my table.

.

.

8 comments

  1. I kept the light on for you and the door open for your return. And finally you returned.The reasons for writing are different for all, a way of expressing ones self. I was one who was worried about you. I thought it was not a coincidence that we last heard from you after your fathers day post.welcome back…

    Like

  2. I have really enjoyed what I've read here, so I am glad you're back! I can totally identify with you, having taken a writing break myself, well, a break from life in many ways, questioning who I thought I was…

    Like

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