#59 Why I write.

I get asked a lot about my writings, about what inspires me and what feeds my mind with the thoughts that I let flow onto the paper. Truth be told, I don't have a cool story to tell, about a special someone whose breaking my heart made me start writing, like most of the writers on Instagram these days do. I started writing way before the malicious claw of love, or the lack thereof, took hold of my thoughts; before I had even learned about love, even. It was the intricacy of nature that surrounded me then that helped me write. I was a much keener observer back then than I am now. I might even admit, rather begrudgingly, that my poems from high school had more depth in them than the ones I write now. There was a phase when I was drawn towards writing about loss and pain- the dark side of love- when in reality, I was neither hurt nor in pain. I just found it intriguing enough to write about it. But the amount of questions I had coming compelled me to shift back to writing on less darker things. And that's when it hit me, that my writing had somehow become more about the readers than it was about me, and it made me sad. Because, if anything, one's writing is an outlet for one's thoughts. How the reader accepts it is important, yes, but how it leaves you feeling after you have said it... that is what writing for me is all about. I never wrote for anyone more than I did for myself. I might have had many muses for many of my poems, but the only reason behind my writing is my need to let the words out of my head; the reason I write is because I love writing. And that is how it will always be for me.
©Shwetha.