Why I Write

September 8, 2017

why-i-write

“I write to find strength.
I write to become the person that hides inside me.
I write to light the way through the darkness for others.
I write to be seen and heard.
I write to be near those I love.
I write by accident, promptings, purposefully and anywhere there is paper.
I write because my heart speaks a different language that someone needs to hear.
I write past the embarrassment of exposure.
I write because hypocrisy doesn’t need answers, rather it needs questions to heal.
I write myself out of nightmares.
I write because I am nostalgic, romantic and demand happy endings.
I write to remember.
I write knowing conversations don’t always take place.
I write because speaking can’t be reread.
I write to sooth a mind that races.I write because you can play on the page like a child left alone in the sand.
I write because my emotions belong to the moon; high tide, low tide.
I write knowing I will fall on my words, but no one will say it was for very long.
I write because I want to paint the world the way I see love should be.
I write to provide a legacy.
I write to make sense out of senselessness.
I write knowing I will be killed by my own words, stabbed by critics, crucified by both misunderstanding and understanding.
I write for the haters, the lovers, the lonely, the brokenhearted and the dreamers.
I write because one day someone will tell me that my emotions were not a waste of time.
I write because God loves stories.
I write because one day I will be gone, but what I believed and felt will live on.”

Shannon L. Alder 

      These aren’t my words but they could have been. Its unnerving, and terribly comforting to find familiar words written by another, words that feel plucked from your own page, inked by your own pen. That someone may have heard your silent thoughts aloud, that the deepest, most heartfelt parts of you have been read like braille by a knowing hand. We celebrate our individuality, skipping towards isolation, for there is no one like you, isn’t that true? And then we’re sock-sliding to a stop on hardwood floors to find that our uniqueness is in fact what unifies us, binding us to strangers – this feeling of being truly known, and fully understood. And in disbelief and flooding relief you breathe out the words, me too. 

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