Do we write because we have something to say?
Or because we want to find out what we think?
Do we write because we enjoy solitude?
Or because we are desperately lonely?
Do we write because we need to type away the silence?
Or because we want to sink deeper into it like in a sea of ink?
Do we write because words outline our identity?
Or because we want to hide behind words?
Do we write to escape people and avoid the world?
Or do we write to celebrate life and understand everyone?
Do we write a little every day?
Or do we write a lot?
Do we wake up in the morning to write?
Or do we survive the workday only so we can write a line or two in the evening?
Why do we write?
To accept ourselves, to create ourselves, to make money, to impress others?
Why does the sun write sunlight every morning?
Why do the leaves write wind?
Why do the clouds write sky?
Why do women write beauty?
Why do sick people write hope?
Why should we even wonder, when a quiet pleasure answers through the words?