I write.

I write, because I want to write. Not becuase I have to or if I don’t something terrible will happen.

I write, because its the simplest way of expressing the most complicated of things. I write, because I don’t want to be complicated. I want to be simple. I want the curve on my lip to be honest- as if the source of the strings that shapes this smile are coming straight from the left side.

I write, because I want to be able to look in the mirror and see no difference between the two halves of my face. I want to see consistency. I want to be consistent. I want to be single-faced, an open book, an image.

I want to be every word in this book; I want to be the its rise.

I write, because I want to be blank and dignified.  I want to be a part of every happy person I have ever met.

I write, because I like to write; because I know if I don’t, I will not be. Here. Like this. Like me.

I write because I know if I don’t, I will not try to be a better person after every pause of the running of this pen and the shutting of this book.

I write because there is so much to write about;  because there are words, wandering. And if I don’t capture them now, they’ll fade away.

I write because I see, and observe, and I can’t just gaze.

I write, because the essence of everything has to be given life.

I write, because sometimes I want to say something to something – not someone.

I write, because I can see, feel, hear, and touch – and I am unwilling to let any of that go barren.


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