Writing is More

Halls begin to empty; the voices begin to fade. Fading away I too slip inside the classroom- Creative Writing, the schedule says. Why am I here? These people are weird. Alone I impatiently sit; a little embarrassed but I wait. Finally the teacher speaks, and she simply says- write. The class goes quite and they begin to write, but this isn't my "thing". I stare at the lined paper, pencil in hand and hesitantly begin to write. It comes easier then I expected. I write everything I can. My thoughts, my feelings, prayers, hopes, and fears. I write my dreams and inspirations- of places that don't exist that appear only in my dream. And on paper they become visible once again- and even to those who will take the time to read. That lined paper represents my world; my universe. It gives me the freedom I choose and everything is just as I want it to be. Love becomes passion, and freedom allows me to fly. Writing- I gave it a chance, and I feel in love. A pen and paper can create much more than I thought. It devoured your soul, thoughts, dreams, and hopes when I wrote. When I write I'm gone- my soul is lost elsewhere. The rest of the world see's a young girl who is only- writing, but I'm traveling around my world. To me it's getting away, it's dreaming, it's loving, it's so much more- it leaves me speechless, it leaves my soul aching for more.