I spend hours exploring the plethora of emotions that encrypt the words from my mouth, and yet with this quill I can find myself in piece. And I can find peace in places where I can’t even think.
Why is it that I can tell the world everything that I haven't admitted to myself?
Why is it that with a lie of my hand on pad my non-coherent conscience suddenly comprehends the complexity of the human cohabitant condition?
Why do I write this?
Why is it that as I write this my mind enters nirvana and I reach a level calm Ghandi would gawk at?
Why is this?