Reliquary of August Anodynes

Dear Blog,

I have neglected you. I have no reasons; only excuses that in no way exculpate myself. I ignored you and here you sat destined to become forgotten. Many times over the last two months I had things to tell you, Blog, but I never did: important things, petty things, rants and ravings, dreams and desires, lonely soliloquies and verbose palavers. It wasn't that you weren't worth telling, I've just found myself fairly laconic lately, to say the least.

Maybe I thought waiting would be the easy part. Maybe I thought that once I finished all that lay ahead I could return and we could pick up where we left off. I guess that's not possible. Anything not stretched or tried is bound to atrophy, even relationships. And for that I apologize.

I can't promise to do better. I fear that if I do that I may disappoint you. I fear that we are on rocky slopes and one more woe may be the final and permanent wedge that rends us apart. So I can't promise you that I'll do better. What I can promise you is this: I want to do better.

I hope you can accept this promise, along with the inferences that I will occasionally fall. I can't be perfect. Its hard enough, Dear Blog, trying to live up to the conjectured standards I have dreamed up. I may not know what you expect of me. I don't know what you want of me. But I know what I believe you deserve and I try to live my life to accommodate. It's hard. I try so hard and I so often worry that I'm not capable of becoming a person that is good enough.

I want so badly to stop guessing. I want to stop avoiding you when I believe I'm not adequate and all you want is me; imperfections and all. So this is what I propose. I'll stop the affected facade if you tell me what you want. I can't promise I can do it, but I can promise to try. And as I try I'll progress. And though it may take awhile, if you are willing to wait, I know you will one day find me as the intrinsic author you always envisioned.

If you are willing to wait, I am willing to try.

-Ryan


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