Why I Write

I write to get lost, to lose myself in a feeling, in a moment a world— a world of limbo, away from reality, a world of endless possibility and imagination. I write to get lost. I write to let go of everything inside of me— of every secret, every burden every lust, every wish, for on paper they can escape from the depths of my soul and finally I can breathe. I write to let go. I write to connect, to create a loose, informal bond between reader and I for the hope that my writing could somehow be the words at least one person was looking for but just couldn’t find himself. I write to connect. I write to challenge myself, to set up a puzzle of words and phrases and rhymes and somehow put together all of the pieces and create a masterpiece. I write to challenge myself. I write to become, to transform into a dancer, a grandfather, or an orphan child, to live a dream, a nightmare, a life, for just a page or two. I write to become. I write to tell, to tell the story of life as we know it, to tell of the things I have seen, the things I’ve heard, the things I’ve felt and the things I’ve tasted, to tell the story of me. I write to tell. I write to last, to crate permanence to solidify everything in my mind and my heart onto paper— onto paper that could get torn, could get burnt, could get lost, but for a moment, at least will not be harmed and will be clung to and remembered. I write to last.