Why do I write? Mostly because I feel like it. I can’t write with a pen because a computer allows me to organize my thoughts much better. I choose to publish my thoughts online. Yet I don’t write for an audience, I don’t care who reads, I don’t know who’s interested.

Does it take a reader to validate my thoughts? Not quite. I doubt I’d feel as good as I do after posting an entry if I just typed it in a text file and saved it on my hard drive. Everything I write is posted and made public. So why do I post if it doesn’t matter whether someone reads or not?

This is similar to my style of dress. The clothes I wear are a reflection of my mood, even though I don’t think anyone takes notice or actually cares.

An exercise in expression is its own reward.

To divulge is therapeutic.

Many may not consciously know this, but they divulge nonetheless, for what feels better than to express one’s problems or opinions to another? Burdens fall on more than one person. Convictions become stronger. In a world full of talkers, we need a world full of ears.

But I choose not to burden others with my problems. I choose not to make others feel bad, or worry them with wondering. I don’t give people pointless details about my life, or bore them with things they don’t want to know. So I speak to what always listens. I write to what is always there. I opine to what never judges me.

Everyone has a story to tell.

This is mine.