Why do I write?
Because I can?
Because I must?
Because I should?
No.

I write for that feeling,
That heavenly feeling,
Of absolute freedom.

No boundaries,
When I write,
Imagination is the only limit,
Whatever I want to happen,
Wherever I want to go,
Whoever I want to be,
Is my choice.

I create worlds,
Build lives,
Change perceptions,
Resolve conflict,
At my will.

I can escape to the place of my choosing,
I can be lying beneath an ancient oak in summer,
With my friends,
Becoming better friends,
For a while.

I can redo,
Restart,
Rewind,
Erase,
All mistakes,
All sadness,
If I want.

I can fly and touch the clouds,
Or tame the fiercest beast,
Or battle demons,
Or influence cultures,
Or invent machines,
Or be myself,
Completely and utterly,
Simply by putting a pen to paper,
Or fingers to keys,
And writing something.

Anything.