I write because my lips cannot always spill the words rustling through my mind. My hand is the only thing I can souly trust to obtain my words and if need be keep them hidden, my paper can be trusted to repeat what once was said and be completely accurate. I write because in love I find myself shy to say how I feel, although I would gladly share my writing with the one I care so genuinely for. I use to only write when I was sad as if the paper would hold my tears back for me. I use to write only when I was mad as if the paper would massage the tension away. I use to write about the places I had been but now I write for him. I write for the passion. I write for the curiosity. I write for the longing. I write for the distance. I write for the time. I write for now. I write for then. I write for the future. I write knowing that he may see. I write as if love has turned me around, I write and I realize it has.
Why I Write
October 28, 2011