I have had my blog for many years now and during my ages of virtual verbiage and prophetic stories of motherhood that be told, I never once believed the magic to be lost. Where one day my Peter Pan syndrome of writings and ramblings of the inter-webs would eventually lose the lustre.
My children are growing and with their seemingly ageless passing of time, only so sadly marked by yet another wrinkle, another yawn, and an additional candle to extinguish I grow weary and sad with my online friend. I would retreat to her and share my woes, my triumphs, but now I find her and wonder what to say, what to share, where to start, what matters, and I ask myself why share. My magic will be lost.
How can the magic be lost though in sharing a story? No longer will the experience be mine to have and cherish but a commercial experience to share with random strangers who may revel in similar events or can relate. No longer will my memory in life be mine, be special, but it will be read, rehashed, scrutinized, or tossed by the wayside.
My magic is lost. I no longer miss coming to my old friend, finding my words was like water when the faucet was twisted on, they would flow, no longer will the words come. I question if this is my age, the lack of lustre for my online friend, stress, missed chances, or that I simply ran out of magic fairy dust, or maybe I simply ran out of lame motherhood stories of ass wipings and whine feasts.
Yet the words still flow, even if pointless, meaningless and nothingness they are something to me, to someone, they are true and felt which is what I have always prided with my blog. Raw, pure, honest, no bullshit, no fluff, and those qualities are what have driven away readers and engaged them all the same. Maybe, just maybe my unbridled magic for the blog will return, or maybe my fairy blog-mother will come and get me ready for the ball again.