Why I Write

I write to clear the cobwebs from my brain. I write to inhale the fragrance of half-baked thoughts that come alive on paper. I write to test the limits of sanity. I write to banish insanity. I write to see the loops and swirls that my pen makes on pristine paper. I write to tell stories. I write to transport myself to distant places, of mango orchards and summer afternoons. I write to dip my hot dusty feet in the crystal clear waters of brooks, and to inhale the intoxicating scent of the blood red roses that grow wild on the hillside.

I write to recall the warmth hidden in those brown eyes.

I write to calm my muddled mind. I write to feel the pain from cramped fingers tightly gripping the pen. I write to form opinions. I write to scatter my thoughts in the wind. I write to laugh at the folly of life, and to weep at the sadness that curls itself around my slowly beating heart. I write to mock my thoughts that presume to a seriousness that aren’t their own. I write to quell the deep sigh that threatens to smother me in its depth. I write to stand on the highest mountain and swoop down on the wings of an eagle.

I write to draw breath.

I write to bring tales from the house with no windows. I write of dragons and sorcerers and the girl with broken spectacles. I write to imitate. I write to flatter. I write to procrastinate. I write to remember.

I write of fear and vengeance, in order

to keep it out of my heart. I write of the innocent laughter of babies, and the hope residing deep in the folds of weather beaten faces, to keep them close to my heart.

I write to forget. I write to drown myself in the sea of aquamarine dreams and slate grey promises. I write to stir my senses like the worst thunderstorm.

I write………