From Mind, Through Pen

Why I Write

It is the way my heart bleeds through my fingers, passing through the pen, and onto the paper. Its how my soul finds that one source of freedom it otherwise craves, and bursts free, testing limits and going beyond. I suppose it isn't really something you can define precisely in words, no matter how ironic this seems. Its something that everyone feels separately, and everyone has their own individual understanding of it, yet they all connect on that one level. Writing, creation, there's something about it that you just can't help but love, so particularly. If all goes crashing, writing may be the only thing that would give us some sense of control, a feeling of release that would remind us that despite everything being out of our hands, we are still in control of this world that we create. A world purely our own. I guess that for some people, writing is like a pick-me-up, a way of catharsis, a method of existing wholly as they please without having to conform to other world, this world. Speaking of worlds, writing also gives you the, call it magical or extremely scientific, power of creating as many worlds as you like, just the way you like. Say, what's stopping me from taking this very moment, of me talking to you and explaining why I love to write, and adjusting it into one of the worlds of creation through just a pen however I like it? Talking, because a reader engrossed in a piece of writing is just like them talking to the writer, isn't it? This moment of talking to each other about talking to each other, writing in this moment about writing this moment down, and now thinking, about thinking, does this count as meta-physics? Then, is this...meta-writing? Its all such a treat to the mind, fuel for the, how the beautiful writer Joseph Addison said, "pleasures of the imagination". Writing holds great power that you just cannot throw off, let me tell you that. Come on, won't you admit that quite a bunch of images went through your mind, some sort of feeling of amusement went through your soul while reading this piece? You didn't do it yourself, that's the power of writing, effective from a different angle. Writing, from the angle of being read, controls as much as it gives control from the angle of being created. Who knew that I would be even slightly modifying at least one mind besides mine when I sat down to write this? When this was just something? That urge to write something has now created this. This is why I love to write; I can make worlds, and I can move worlds. Just "love" is too small a word for it, I think. I live to write, and I write to live. Oh by the way, did you know that all that went through your mind in the past few minutes while reading this is the result of the simple yet limitless magic of giving life to yet another world on paper through pen? Of writing, I mean.