Monday, November 24, 2014

a season of thanks

this year, i want to thank you for loving me at my very worst. thank you for all the home-cooked meals and fresh-baked goods. thank you for making the effort to keep in touch, even when we're miles apart. thank you for choosing to have me in your life, for the long nights, filling my life with laughter, for making my fights yours, being there for the tears, without judgment. i'm thankful that ya'll are in good health, and for allowing me to offer strength, when you've needed it most. thank you for always providing me with a travel buddy, when this city becomes too much. thank you for being my family, the siblings i never had, and for taking the time to read the words i'm always writing, my letters to you.

and i'm so thankful that for another year, i had you all in my life. and i pray, i will see another full year with all of you.

this year, i'm working on accepting those things for which i cannot change, working on accepting the choices of others, and learning that i can't fight to keep myself in your life, that i shouldn't have to fight for that. but know this, if you ever decide you need me, i guess i'll always be here.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

"Why do you still read my blog?"

I knew I wasn't going to receive an answer. Not a tangible one anyway. Somewhere over the course of the past year, you'd decided we were no longer going to even politely acknowledge each other. But there you were, every other week, showing up in my Google Analytics statistics. You were the only one I could track on that thing.

"I think he still reads my blog. I don't understand why. He won't even acknowledge my presence."

"How do you know?"

"I track it. But maybe it's not him. Maybe someone else who works at the NRA really likes it."

I probably shouldn't have asked you about it. You've stopped coming by. Perhaps that's for the best. Is it weird though. That a part of me was comforted by the fact that, maybe, you still cared. Even though you refused to let anyone know that.

But. Here we are. Of my own doing.