You're only 18 into the dream and already rushing to anchor yourself because you saw someone upstream do the same.
The old man fishing at the mouth of the river laughs a caring laugh.
He whispers pigeons into the wind for you.
"Enjoy the rocking of the boat alone for some time, my friend.
When it is time to share your vessel: Sift, Choose, Enjoy, and Repeat; savor the liberties that youth allows.
The other half you should really be looking for is the answer to your favorite question."

I wanted promise houses built of hay.
I knew those chocolate hearts were poisoned but I ate them just the same.

I thank you. Your absence breaks my character. I can now rebuild.
Your silence fills my heart with questions and the only answer that seems to quiet it down is: love (as cliche as that may sound.)
I've remembered that love is best when it is mirrored;  now, the only one I'm smiling into is the one inside my bathroom.

I opened the door to my shriveled home
and in pranced radiant Love in a drunken frenzy,
ranting about heart-to-hearts and self-hugs.
I grunted in accordance and she laughed me away.
Her eyes beckoning, arm extended, wine in hand, she sang,
"You had me standing out in the rain for way too long.
Drink this while I build the fire  
and remind you that in here is where I've always belonged."

I write because I want to be understood but I don't allow many to hear me out.
I write because the paper never gives me a blank stare and the pen always holds my hand.
I write because my most of my epiphanies come when I'm in silence and I'm too lonely to let them leave but I don't want to yell at them to stay.
I write because emotions are so volatile and I don't want to burn any bridges.
I write because the world spins around the sun 365 times in a year.
I write because the wind loves an audience and someone should write down how it dances.
I write because my third eye tingles and I feel who I can really become.
I write because I'm scared of forgetting who I've been.
I write because I'm scared of you and scared of me.
I write because I don't want to look back someday and forget you existed.
I write because my experiences are so far-fetched that reading them back makes them more believable.
I write because someday someone will relive my experiences.
I write because.
I write because.
I write because.
I write because a blank spot is the perfect place to fill in with words with imaginary meaning. Because my therapist doesn't exist beyond the 2D plane. Because when I'm through with fear and my doubt I want to have something interesting to laugh at. Because my chest hurts. Because my tears want something to smear. Because there is no water to drink here. Because I want to. Because it's what I'm good at. Because I can.

Why do you write?