I write because I am socially inept.
Or maybe I choose to be a loner.
Of course, it could be that I am just your run of the mill narcissist who thinks they have something brilliant to say, that everyone must read.
Sometimes it is therapy.
Other times, writing reminds me why I need therapy.
Writing reflects my true colors, while meeting me in person highlights my insecurities.
When I write I am able to complete my thoughts around something…at least for the time being…
While I write, I try to notice the minute details of things I may never have noticed if I wasn’t trying to describe it to someone with mere words on a page.
The beauty of life is reflected back to me, as I put my thoughts on paper…ahem…computer screen, because I am learning to look at every moment in search of gems worth passing on to others. And there are a surprising number of diamonds in a life that may seem, on the outside, rather mundane.
Writing in some ways takes a load off of my shoulders, while I can’t explain why or which topics succeed, there is a sigh of relief when I have released the burden I wasn’t even aware of, free.
The written word has long allowed us to see that not a one of us is alone, even if sometimes we feel like we are.
My fingers dancing across the black keyboard of my laptop have allowed the permanent laryngitis in my throat to slowly loosen; my voice is heard even if it’s not with ears.
Because it is all there is for me to do.
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