If you asked me why I write, I would ask you not to ask me that. You already know the answer. But if I must tell you, I am searching. And you already know what for. In a world that moves too fast, that moves too slowly, that never seems to move in a way that makes sense to me, I am searching.
The answer lies by the oceanside, of course. It floats around me in the salty, sea air. It ebbs and flows towards and away from me on the crest of each frothy, cerulean wave. When I’m ready to find the answers, the ocean is where I’ll be. The ocean is where I’ll be, if you’re ever looking to find me.
I write because too often my lips trip and stumble over words that are too inadequate for the tumbling thoughts in my mind. I write because there aren’t many souls in my life who would understand what I meant, and also what I didn’t. I write because sometimes the words build up on my clumsy tongue and I begin to feel as though I may scream. I write to find release.
If you ask me why I write, I would tell you it’s because I love you. I love so many You’s. So many like You. So many who aren’t like You. I want to share with you the things I cannot share with those I hold so close to me. You could say I hold you closer. I write to not feel so alone even though I don’t too much mind being lonely.
I write because the night hours stretch ahead of me like a damned, black highway, leading to something that leaves me feeling unsure, a highway that leads nowhere. I write to fill the silence. I write to quiet the noise. I write to fill the emptiness. I write when I need to be alone.
I write because I am searching. Like so many others like me, I write to find what I am missing. I already know what it is I am looking for. I just don’t know when I’ll find it.