On writing

Why I Write

What is writing, after all?
A form of communication.
A listing of symbols through which we convey meaning.
I am of the belief that it’s a kind of magic.
It’s time-travel.
It’s the undenied profession of human existence.
It’s a ritualistic expression of self and discovery.
It’s catharsis, murder without jail.
It’s growing up on advice to your younger self.
It’s an ailment to ignorance.
It’s a remedy for innocence.
It’s miss-demeanour in the form of truth.
It’s honour in the form of lies.
It’s clandestine thoughts finding a home.
It’s nonsense with meaning.
It’s the bridge between idea and feeling.
It’s a nest of possibilities.
It’s What Ifs? coming to life.
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