People ask why I write. 
They ask how I do it, and what it means to me. 
My answer is always simple. Easy.
"I write because I love it." 

Watching words come together and form a sentence is beautiful. 
Seeing those symbols meet in a meaningful harmony, telling a story enriched with emotion. 
The words tumbling over each other like roaring waves,
then laying out smoothly onto the beach of recycled bamboo paper.

Writing is going to other places when your current location isn't pleasant.
It's standing under an umbrella in the pouring rain.
It's your first kiss, your last kiss, and all the kisses in between. 
It is love, and it is loss.

But most importantly, writing is my passion. 
It's a never-ending fire in my heart and sole that can only be kindled by a pencil and a piece of paper.
It's my way of letting out my frustration.
It's my way of telling my secrets to someone who will never tell.


So the next time someone asks me why I write, my answer will not change. 
"I write, because I love it."