I write because I have to. There is something about the feeling I get as the pen in my hands leaves its mark on a page, something that reminds me that I am here. I sometimes write and realise that I am feeling things that I did not know I was feeling, that I know things I did not know I knew.  Sometimes I do not know something fully until I think about it endlessly, and maybe even write it down. Something about writing down my innermost thoughts conjures up things I never knew were there. The depths of the self are set free, let loose, and allowed to run wild into the world. A world which if it is lucky enough, may someday be allowed to hear those thoughts.  Even stories, fiction, these too reveal us, in no less a way. Our characters are all part of who we were, are, could be, or could never be. The amazon possesses a multitude of trees, but all have their roots in common soil. We create a multitude of characters and stories, but all have their roots in our selves. I also write because I want to be the reason someone decided to stand up to their friends, to betrayals, to their narcissistic lovers. Courage and strength. I also write because I want to be the reason someone decided start following their dreams and begin believing in themselves, to let go of the past and to set themselves free. Writing is a tool, a weapon, a means to an end, and an end in itself. It can be all these things because it is a living thing, a creature that can spread a disease or the antidote to one. I write because it is how I live, I write because I deserve to know who I am, because I deserve to discover that the biggest mysteries lie within us, beneath the letters that form the words. I write because it is part of my life, but also because I can touch other lives, and because even one life would do.