Where, oh where, has Aphrodite gone?

One could say that I quit writing for a while. Or, that I had better things to do. Perhaps priorities shifted. Oversimplified statements like these, while maintaining a modicum of truth, only serve to help us all stay in our perfect glass boxes. Free from the dirt. Removed from the stinging extremes of our conscious capabilities. The reign of social laziness has melted articulate conversations into minimal inquiries and half-assed narratives that we whisper through keyholes. So, yes, I have quit writing for a while. I did have better things to do. My priorities shifted. But for those of you that don't prefer the comfort of your climate-controlled terrarium, know that the better part of the past three years has been spent tapping, clawing and finally, taking a wrecking ball to my own glass box. Do not hand me a towel to dry the blood as I continue to pluck the shards of glass from my feet. These wounds will be my battle scars to remind me of the strength I found to fight. Do not pity me for what I lost. With the trees cleared, I am free to grow in whichever direction I choose. Do not ask me to unlock your box. The only escape is from the inside. I have not been missing. I am finally here.