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Why I Write

You find it odd that I sit in my corner, writing. I wonder what you think of it; of me. Do you see me as a geek scrambling to finish homework? I sit here and watch you all wonder about me. I watch your body features, I watch your reactions, and I watch your expressions.

I am always watching you, like a predator and its prey. Sometimes, I make believe I am with the CIA, doing a special investigation on you. Sometimes I feel like a stalker. It has been assumed that I’m weird, observing and almost never talking. Do I pose as a threat in your eyes?

A small few of you question me; ask why I am this way. "I am a writer." I will always answer. You would think it is odd that I like to huddle up and get cozy with a pencil and a piece of paper during my winter days.

If you were to ask me why I write, and I would tell you.

I write because when I do, I am not just myself. Whereas you exist in but one world with one set of possibilities and redoes, I exist in several, with unlimited chances. I can be anyone I want to be through writing. I can imagine what it is like to look through anyone’s eyes and see the world. This way, I am understood. I am the creator of reality and no one can judge me just because I am a little different from everyone else.

I write simply because I crave the feeling of my fingers on the keyboard, or of a new notebook. I write because I like that satisfaction and delight of watching my world develop. I write for myself.

So here I will sit here and observe you. I will watch what you do and how you will react to different situations. I will bare all remarks made about me because I know, as soon as I go home, I can grab a cold Dr.Pepper and cuddle up to write about the world that no one else can penetrate.




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