Howdy’ Myslykemeeh?

did you miss me?

it’s been a while.

how are you?

i did miss you.

i thought about coming back sooner—typed and deleted more times than i can count. i’d start a sentence and then just stare at it until it felt too honest or not honest enough, and i’d close the tab and tell myself, later.

later kept moving.

then it turned into weeks. months. and somehow, years.

but here i am.

but what am i doing here?

i’m not sure i’m the same person. i’m not sure i’m different either.

maybe that’s the clearest i’ve sounded in years.

but is this another forgotten post? or is this a comeback post?

hmm…not really.

maybe that’s the point.

i know i wasn’t a faithful blogger. i got carried away—by change, by life, by time. by people i met and fell into. and by someone who made me believe there really was a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow.

i had to pause communication, not because i wanted to, but because some seasons ask you to set certain things down for a while.

this was one of the things i set down.

i’m not proud of the silence. but i’m not going to apologize for living through it either.

a lot has been happening. life has a way of filling every corner until there’s no room left to sit down and write in this space. and somewhere in all of it, i kept meaning to come back here. kept meaning to say something.

then i remembered—i started this before i ever had facebook. and no, this wasn’t where writing began for me. i journaled long before this. filled pages that were later saved, thrown away, or lost somewhere between moves and moods. and then i went big. bigger in my world.

but this… here… this blog was first mine.

i called it myslykemeeh, and it is so special to my heart because this was my first public outpouring. the first place i put poetry, prose, and scattered thoughts into the open, where someone other than me could find them.

maybe that’s what kept me going.

maybe this place quietly convinced me that the words were worth something beyond the page.

i never stopped writing, by the way.

even in the silence here, i was writing.

that part never left.

will you come back to me?

or maybe the real question is—will i come back to you?

i hope so.

you were my sanity back when i was wandering, trying to find my lost literary self.

i like knowing you’re here—reading, nodding, maybe recognizing yourself in a line or two. that’s always been the thing that kept me writing. not the numbers. not the reach. just that flicker of me too traveling through a screen.

but i can’t promise i’ll stick around.

who knows?