it seems

I like to write.
I like to write stories.
I like to write my thoughts and dreams.
I like to string words together into a cohesive form that projects a complete thought, one from my mind, that can then be read by another and the thought shared.

It seems simple enough.

Words are my passion-- and not the words themselves, but rather, the thoughts and ideas they communicate. I love communication through words. I love to read them and write them. I love to speak them and hear them. I love that a simple conversation between two people using the most honest and real descriptors they can utter has the ability to be so completely transparent that it is as though each one of them handed the other a part of their soul.

It seems enough.

But words aren't. This we have learned since childhood-- that words are not enough-- that actions speak louder than words-- that words can hurt-- that sticks and stones may break our bones, but words-- those powerful communicators-- those words will never hurt us.

It seems

that words do hurt. Anything with the power to be so completely authentic and true-- the sharing of souls-- has the opposite power as well. I was once told that love is the ultimate of great feelings and that one has to open themselves up to an extreme degree to experience the greatness of this love, but inversely by opening this self they are now able to experience the ultimate in pain. When you believe that words have this power to share something so intimate, you must also realize that they can rip that piece of soul you shared to shreds.

It

is a risky thing-- this writing. If the pen is mightier than the sword, then my words can cut deeper than that blade which when wielded by the skilled and strong has killed so many throughout history. And by choosing to pick up this pen, I take on the weight of that warrior-- knowing that this is my call and my destiny.

I like to write.