I write because pages are too white. Too wide, too long, too empty. I write because sometimes I feel like I’ve forgotten how, articulation abandoning me to one of the fumbling incoherents that wander through life, communication just beyond their grasp or desire. I write because because because sometimes I’m afraid to cry and it’s the only way I know how, to pour emotion on the page and hope for the best. Just like life. Just like I hope for the best every day.
Because it’s hard.
Because it’s easy.
Because they told me my talent would be wasted if I didn’t.
Because I don’t want to be wasted (high, fucked, spun, delirious) anymore.
Because I don’t know how not to.
Because a picture is worth a thousand words but a thousand words is still a thousand words and I can summarize the entire history of the galaxy and dimensional reality in a flash fiction piece of 500 words. What picture can do that?
Because I want to.
Because I want to.
Because I want to.
Wanting is sometimes the most important part.
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