“You asked why I wrote. I said lost things.”
– Dave Smith
I don’t write for sympathy. I don’t write because I revel in the image of an elusive, mysterious woman haunted by loss. I don’t write because I am a victim of social media validation. I don’t write because I need an audience to vindicate or vilify me. I don’t write for fame, or fandom, popularity or infamy. I don’t write for rewards. And I don’t write for you.
I write to be able to sleep at night. I write so I have something to wake up for. I write because it helps me hold on to sanity. I write because it reminds me I am alive and have a life that needs living. I write because it heals the constant wound. I write because for a few precious moments the words let me believe I have a chance to fix what’s broken and try to be happy. I write because if I did not, I could not make even a temporary peace with my fierce, empty and noisy heart. I write for me.
I write not because I can, but because it is the only thing I have that has not left.
part-broken, part-whole 
Beautiful. Just beautiful.
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Wow…this went ALL the way through. Thank you for writing.
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Fair enough, but with that in mind, I’m curious as to why you choose to write in public.
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Hello Walt. Since this post is not addressed to you it makes sense that you ask the question. However, should the one I have written to/about were to read this, the question does not occur.
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I wish I could say the same.
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good stuff
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This is beautiful and I write for all the same reasons. Continue to do what you do!
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Reblogged this on 'two roads diverged…' and commented:
I have always wanted to write and admired people who can write…i never thought myself a good enough writer,but not writing was creating some part of me to decay i guess, i finally can let it all out..here is a piece from another blog that spoke to me.
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