So I was poking the works of Protag when my eyes fell on a question:
"Why Do You Do It?"
Curious as into what this was questioning, I decided to read it for my own. And what i found enlightened me.
Why Do I Write?
I write for no one but myself, every last thought that I have written has been for no one but myself, yet...I leave it for the world to view.
I live in my own world of fantasies while my pencil dances across the sheet of lined snow, or when my fingers play their own game of Tap Tap across the QWERTY Board. My world of pain and joy pours out through the flow of words.
Now I know that I am not the greatest writer in the world, but I do not complain nor care. What I write are the feelings within me that I desire to release, and with no other form of doing so, my writing is where it counts.
Both stories of love and of hate, have come to life through the mind of mine. The world within my mind is something I want to live, and to do so is to write.
What I'm trying to say is...writing is an art. Not the kinda art where markers and crayons come into play and you color pretty pictures on this pretty sheet of paper for people to glance at and shrug. This is an art that can never be matched by another human soul. One's stories are their own.
Which is why i write for no one but my own self. I don't care if it offends someone. Or they fall down in tears weeping had it been directed towards them. I only care about letting out my inner turmoils, painting a picture with words, and living among my creation.
This is why I write.