When can they understand? Writing is this little man’s passion as if a raging force is linking and binding me to it.
It is a strength that fills everything that is void within me.
It was never suppressing, but instead it allows me to bare my whole being, honestly and devotedly.
Reposting from © 1990 Terra de Gramm
Why do I write?
Why do I take pleasure in doing it?
Simple. Writing matters most to me.
It became a comrade who withstood beside me through every prose and poetry that I have scribbled. It breathes life to the stories that flourished within me and it fails me not.
It became an ally, to whom I can bare even the darkest ebb of my soul. It listens and allows me to be as true as I am. I can be jolly or glum or mad and writing will judge me not.
Writing became a friend who allows my growth as a real person. It is my eyes, my ears, and my heart that inspires me to see, hear and feel the throbbing world around me.
Writing became silver wings. It carries me to far-flung places and most, into the thoughts of other people. To share my sight and my heart with them.
© M.C. Padilla
In response to Writer’s Digest Word Prompt #WhyWeWrite
Featured Image by Patrick Fore on Unsplash
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