Why I Write

I write during the edges of the day, when the hours of today peel back revealing tomorrow, when the midnight sky hangs heavy like a blanket. I write in the quietest, deadest hours of the night, when everything is silent except for the whir of unfinished sentences dancing in my head. The thickness of words takes up space in my room. 

I write in the in-between moments - while in flight heading to a new destination, while waiting for my entree at a restaurant, and in the minutes that exist between coming and going, between arriving and leaving. My mind fills any empty space with paragraphs and prose.

I write in the corners of myself, following the path from one life experience as it curves into the next. I write during periods of transition, putting observations to paper like a curious spectator watching myself from the outside. I write to bring definition to the collection of moments that comprise my days, to give them shape and imbue them with meaning. 

I write because it's cheaper than therapy and more lasting than substances. I write because it's cathartic. I write simply because.