Why I Write

The pen releases what the body wishes it could say, but feared the words to be heard aloud. What the mind wishes it knew, and prayed to God it didn’t, flows out from the fingertips that want to grasp so much but are too afraid to stretch and reach. Their desires come out onto the page with each stroke of the pen, some surrounded by swirls and smiles and hearts and other decorative things. The footsteps that can’t be forgotten are indented into the paper—some spots more firmly than others. The knees that gave into prayer over crumpled dreams found their own way onto each page with the makings of new fantasies. The elbows that were leaned upon in frustration left their own marks on the paper, leading to new beginnings and different endings and twists along the way. Every word is a tear of the heart. There are mournful tears and joyous tears, and each one needs to be shed. The pen comforts the heart’s grievances and shares in the heart’s happiness. It portrays in wondrous ways the events of the world from the views of one’s spirit along their path in the grace of time.