I Write

I write to remember nights in the shared booth at my favorite dive bar, stories interrupted by impulsive kisses. I write to remember the flock of birds that take flight in my ribcage with late night conversations. I write to understand my tangled mess of mind. I write to create a vacancy, to purge unnecessary woes and worries. I write to be honest, despite the terrifying possibility of my words being misunderstood — or scarier still, having them understood all too well. I write to dissuade my heart and deflate my doubts. I write to set in stone the memories of my past, recalling the progress along my route.

I write to express, edit, recompose and carefully present the things that are too difficult to say aloud.


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