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I write.
I write.
Well, sometimes I write.
I write to be understood.
I write to understand myself.
I write because spoken words are often too hard.
I write because words unspoken are even harder.
I write because there is an eraser on the end of my pencil.
I write because there is no eraser on the end of my tongue.
I write because someone has hurt me.
I write because I have hurt someone.
I write when I have been inspired.
I write when I have been dissuaded.
I write to make my world better.
B U T, I do not write when my world is better.
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I have noticed a sad fact of self-discovery. It is only when something in my own little universe is amiss that I get the familiar longing to put pen to page.