And that’s just what it is, isn’t it? It’s the million dollar question; “why in the world do we do anything?”

            Anthropologically speaking, it’s an evolution of some sort from the basic needs of survival. Perhaps we write and dance and draw and cry all because we are trying to show others how human we can be. Or maybe it’s not based on survival or breeding, maybe why we do those things is because of our own emotional and mental need of release. Hah, this just because I’ve been watching too much television.

            Now, why do I specifically write? I could give you a basic/scientific story, “it’s the release of emotional trauma and stress in a better, non-violent way,” (Lies, my writing is plenty violent.) or I could give you a sob story, “It’s the only way that people will listen,” (Which is also a lie, people sort of listen to me.) but I think I’ll give you the truth. Well, the truth in the best way I think of it.

             I was about to go into fourth grade when my half-sister ran away. Of course, at that age you don’t really think of a half relative as a half relative. She was my sister, and I was devastated. As I grew older I could understand her perspective better, and yet it still hurt. My parents and others can say that I didn’t change much, but I think I did. I feel like I became less attached, more distant. Sometimes, I still feel like I don’t really trust some of my ‘best’ friends.

            Throughout that time, I discovered my love for writing. At first my poems and shorts were sad and somewhat depressing. Eventually, they grew to be hopeful and honest. They illustrated a girl who was broken and unhappy however she still hoped and dreamed.

            So you ask again, just why do I write? I write to dream. I write to confide. I write to be close, closer than I’ll ever be to her again. I write to get to know her. And finally, I write to let someone in, to let someone really understand who I am.

            That my good friend, is why I write.