Special things

I have a very odd relationship with this blog. While it is in my heart like a beloved child that I nurture and check on I also guard it like a secret because I fear having such a necessary creative outlet judged by the wrong eyes. I think I want people to read it then I realise I just want people to like it. It's rather childish and pathetic really but it's mine and deep down while I like to think that my writing here brings something to those who read it the real inspiration to do it is for myself, to release thoughts that buzz in my mind, to practise eloquence, to just allow myself to do the thing I really enjoy. While I do like to look at my stats and am sometimes mildly offended by the lack of readers I am also warmed by the fact that my little secret is still well kept. Like a favourite place or a book or a song you want to share with everyone because the joy it brings you should be shared. Yet, like these favourite things, you feel that letting anyone else know them is almost a betrayal of the special relationship you share with them and you cannot be sure that they will appreciate it the way you feel it should be, or worse, if they do, that they will share it with everyone and your special thing will no longer be special-your favourite garden crowded and trampled, your favourite book turned into a movie series with a crazy preteen following or your favourite song overplayed on the radio to the point where you skip it on shuffle.
I like to think that if anyone reads this that they enjoy it, and if they share it that they do so with people who will also enjoy it. I also like to think that I wouldn't care if no one read this or subscribed or commented (I'd like to think that but I definitely care a little...). I especially like to think about how I enjoy knowing that I am writing, even a little, even something unimportant and even secretly.