As a young girl I had a speech impediment; I wrote then, because I was afraid to speak. Today, I write for so many reasons:
I write because I am capable.
I write to clear my head of jumbled words that want to be created more quickly than they can be verbalized.
I write because it soothes my soul.
I write because I love.
I write because I hate.
I write for the trapped voices of fears that live inside me.
I write for pleasure and for pain.
I write for the fine line that divides my feelings into the previous categories.
I write because I feel alive, like the words are oxygen and precede my exhale.
I write because I am lonely sometimes, and words are like old friends having a cup of coffee and a private conversation.
I write because I feel maniacal.
I write to subdue my fears.
I write because I imagine.
I write because I want to remember all of the little things in life that make a difference to me.
I write because the words pulsate inside my head, and are begging to come out.
I write to clear the slate.
I write to document observations, because it then becomes history.
I write because in my soul are a million fireflies and when I write, the paper is the jar to contain them; yet still allow their light to glow.
I write because I have something to say; yet sometimes I say nothing that anyone would understand.
I write because it makes me feel whole.
I write to exercise my freedom to do so.
I write mainly because it feeds my passion for expressing my deepest thoughts, often the ones I cannot say out loud.
I write because I can.
