Why do we write? It’s a simple question, truly. Why do we spend hours, hunched over, trying to find the perfect words and rhymes to capture the feelings buried in our hearts and so deliciously exploited by our minds? Why do we jump up in joy when the ending does justice to the story or the rhyme is just right? Why do we care to pen our thoughts into words instead of letting them wander and disappear?
It’s simple. Writing provides life. It gives life to our wildest imaginations and deepest secrets. We write what we can’t say or sometimes, we write what we weren’t able to say. The spoken word can be forgotten or misinterpreted, but the written word has started and ended wars.
We often remember a clever reply hours after an argument and wish we had said it, but time can’t be turned back. The written word isn’t final until we make it final, it can be edited, erased, changed, and moved. It has carried passion and dreams, hopes and failures, all in a way that might seem unremarkable to unbothered eyes. But to those with even half a mind, the beauty of it all shines through.