Why do I write?

I write because words are drops of light falling into the shadowed corner of a darkened world. They are the soltice of the heart's expression, the solitude of an art that has long been hidden. I write because I fall in love, I write because I see the world, I write because I am inspired, I write because I live. When life ceases, writing ceases. When writing ceases, life ceases to be life and becomes something to be observed rather than experienced. That is why I write: because it is my way of reliving, remembering, reflecting. A painter may create a masterpiece in his mind but if it is not on paper it is a mere daydream, unpursued and unapplied. Yet this is only my way. The easiest method of warding off false-life is striving for what we are intended to do in everything. Search for that beauty, pine for it. Bread will continue to be bread, as life will continue to be life, but we've been given toasters, and all we have to do is use them. So pull out the strawberry jam and butter and get cracking, the kitchen closes soon.