I write for the pages that contain my story,
for the only ones that listen to my sorrows;
the quiet pages that don’t talk back.
I write to them because it releases my anger.
I write to discover my passion,
to let it be known to the ones I love and hate,
to discover it and enhance it.
I write my passion to form my dreams.
I write because it aids me paint my dreams,
dreams woven around a flow of my words,
pictures painted with each letter residing on my papers.
I write my dreams because they guide my future.
I write to find the pathways to my future,
to establish the goals that keep me stable,
to see deeper into my soul.
I write my future to soothe my worries.
I write to extinguish my worries,
to feel free from all the stress that bites into my skin,
to find solutions like calming balms on my injuries.
I write to preserve my mind.
I write to clear my mind,
to shine light on the darkness that sometimes clouds it,
to see the crystal glow of happy thoughts;
I write for to remember always.
I write to look back on my memories,
to look back to the words that have recorded my life,
to look back to the people who have loved me.
I write my memories to love in the future.
I write because it feeds my addiction,
because it drowns me and takes me to another world,
because it gives me oxygen, life and passion.
Finally I write because it is what is I am.