I write because I heard my grandmother tell too good a story to forget.

I write because we have stories to tell.

I write because nothing seems to work.

I write to hear myself better.

I write because some years have passed me by and I needed to know I was there.

I write to get close to.

I write so I’m not too comfortable.

I write for the flaws that frustrate me and so I don’t measure others against what ought to be.

I write because of the things that clench to my stomach and compel me to grab a pen to lull the pain.

I write because what else would I answer for my honest time.

I write so I can tell you how it went when I knew how it went.

I write because of the sad one, the happy one and especially the far one.

I write to show you that I’ve tried, because I’ve tried.