I write to remember the extraordinary. I write to remind myself that through the monotonous slur of days and sleepless nights, through the good and the bad, through the soul-numbing and the downright frightening, little fireworks of miracles do appear when least expected.

I write to cherish the mundane. I write to cherish the late-night scrawls under the covers, smudges where the pen has pressed too hard for an emphasis that even words cannot yield and careless misspellings-the product of too much to write, too little time.

I write to cherish the songbirds chirping. Smell the scent of flowers through the pages. Taste the raindrops and hear the rain boots pounding against the sidewalks. Wait for me, wait for me. Heart racing in anticipation of finals and summer adventures.

I write to cherish the sun rays radiating against my skin. Feel my toes digging into the sand. Remember the bike rides that go a little too fast, a little too far. Forever stroll the lazy winding path with my grandmother into a neverending summer sunset.

I write to cherish the striking shades of apple red, burnt orange, and honey gold scattered in the air. Savor the spilled pumpkin spice lattes and warm slices of apple pie. Dutifully trudging a bursting Halloween bag door after door, late hour after hour, year after year. Bristle at the cool breeze and gently falling snowflakes. Rush outside at the first sight of snow-at last. Tapping feet waiting impossibly for the Christmas bells.

And yet, I write to forget. I write to ebb away embarrassments itching sorely in the back of my mind. I write to forget the everyday faux pas. The apologies that should have been said but never quite made it. The uneasy words lingering in the air. I write to ease the pent-up anxiety that boils like scorching lava underneath a solemn exterior.

I write because if I do not let the words flourish on paper, they will be but little more than dying embers sputtering in the rushing tides of time.