I write to find my voice the one that doesn’t always speak, but finds itself authentically on paper. I do it to try to understand the person that lives inside me, the person that confuses me at times.

I write to be able to share my stories. The stories that actually happened and sometimes the ones I wish have happened. It gives me the chance to live my dream through words as if by reading them I can believe them.

I write to forget certain people, and sometimes to remember them. For the chance to connect with them, to connect with strangers, to even make new friends, and to know I’m not alone.

I write to expose the vulnerability that I try to curb every day. It is my chance to be the truest me. I let people know how much I love them and how much they mean to me. I use it to remember that I survived hardships and it becomes a way to heal my wounds.

I write for those who are broken, whole, in love, and in pain. I do it for those who feel things so deeply and who are moved by words that capture their emotions.

I write because writing comes from the heart and my mind isn’t allowed to get involved in the process. It allows me to be anyone I want, to relive certain memories or even start a new chapter. I do it because I want to leave something for the world to remember me by. It’ll give me the chance to look back and see how much I’ve grown. The more I write the more the world makes sense to me, the more I find myself, and the more I believe that I can still somewhat control how my story goes.