Where are they now?
We’ve all been through it, go through it again and again–the decision whether to keep it up. We regret the decision made to leave by friends we’ve never met. We snicker, they’ll be back, because we know like nicotine and whiskey, blogging is addicting. We admire those who’ve left to spend the time they’ve recognized as wasted instead on real writing; the novel, the poem, the job. We’ve sighed at their much-cleaner houses now, as we look around our own. We miss their words, and yet, when seeing how our own are spent, most often misinterpreted, ignored except for some occasional recognition of a feeling or a thought, we wonder too if life is better on the path they’ve chosen. Life should be more private, I suppose.