Why do writers write?
Is it because we are just so full with feeling it has to have somewhere to flow? Is it because there is a part of us deep within that only the most complicated metaphors could explore? Are we a map of hidden destinations that has no right way? Or are we, after all, just writers?
Do we really have a place inside of us that no being knows or has known? If so, can words do it justice? Are we people that simply enjoy basking in our own overcomplicated abstractions? Or are we, after all, just writers?
Are we desperate beings, yearning just to be understood? Do we compensate comprehension with words that are only more obscure? Are we just lost souls, looking for a cure? Or are we, after all, just writers?
Why do writers write?
Well, I'm not really sure. Because maybe a lost soul is not something meant to be cured. Maybe "comprehension" isn't the purpose of the words. Maybe it's nothing but a longing to convey. To convey to the world, what we wish we could just say. Maybe it's not an act of desperation. Could it be considered a kind gesture instead?
Maybe our abstractions are not overcomplicated, but deep. Maybe words don't exactly do our experiences justice, but at least they can then be seen. Maybe that small place inside us is simply a place other people don't know that they own. Is that something lacking?
Because even if we are a map, hidden underneath our heart's door, that leads only to places, metaphors can explore, the consequence of writer's feelings that do soar, are the punctured onlooker's hearts and souls forevermore, for words have a way of grasping to the core what lips would never dare say.
Why do writers write?