Why I write


You ask me “Why do you write?” and I sit speechless, unable to express why the quiet glide of a pen across a sheet of paper is better then any song or mindless tune. Why at any given time inspiration will hit and words will pour out of my mind trying to find somewhere safe to go. Your words echo “Why do I write?” and all I can seem to do is wait—wait for the words to explain to finally arrive. I write because I’m a lover of art and wonder. I write because words can hold the power to create beauty or tear down walls of ignorance. I write to escape the pressures of reality. I write to travel to another time and place that is easier to be locked away in. I write to bask in the glow of happiness. I write to give the thoughts zooming through my head a voice. I write to let out all the pain that only ink knows how to carry away. I write to articulate the feelings I lack the power to say out loud. I write to give the steady stream of dreams inside me an ocean to escape to. I write to commemorate, reminisce, and preserve the memories that get lost in the great abyss known as life. I write to explore the treasure trove that’s buried deep within my soul. I write to splatter the typical black and white with kaleidoscopes of color. I write to embrace the flaws that come together in harmony to create me. I write because it’s a blind freefall with the potential to go anywhere my mind can imagine. I write because I believe in magic and wonder. You ask my “Why do you write?” and I’ll always believe it’s for same reason I breathe—to live.

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