We Write.

We write on napkins. We write on the backs of receipts. We write on scraps of cardboard. We write on street signs and in the stalls of public bathrooms. We write in the dirt, in the dust and in the ashes.

We write when we're happy. We write when we're sad. We write when we're angry and we write when we're excited. We write through tears. We write when we feel like it. And sometimes when we don't. We write in the midst of fond memories. We write to ourselves. We write to lovers. We write to enemies.

We write letters. We write notes. We write memoirs. We write obituaries. We write articles. We write stories. We write poems and we write threats. We write cries for help. We write the truth. We write lies.

We write our thoughts. Our emotions. Our fears. Our hopes. Our dreams. Our secrets. Our desires. Our sins. Our joys. Our tragedies. Our confessions.

We write because we can't imagine what would happen if we don't. We can't bear to think about what would become of us if we weren't allowed to scribble our feeble thoughts down in messy marker, blotchy pens and dull pencils.

We are poets. We are authors. We are children. We are men. We are women. We are young. We are old. We are wise. We are foolish. We are students. We are teachers.

We live. We die.

We write.

We are.