Why Do I Write?

Why do I write? you asked in awe, I say; like Van Gogh's vibrant art, I do so to paint my emotions, to bare my heart. In swirling brushstrokes, colours so bold, A kaleidoscope of stories, waiting to unfold, revealing different faces each day.

Like Van Gogh's starry nights, I find solace in a verse, the peace that comes with it is indescribable, capturing the essence of my life, for better or for worse? It's of no consequence to me. With every stroke of my finger on the keyboard, a canvas lays blank, there, I paint with words dancing across the page, an eternal fate.

I create bridges of connection through letters and phrases, echoing Van Gogh's search for human affection, I network with writers and sometimes characters in their books. His brush, I perceive my pen, channel our mutual ambition to stir the soul, ignite the spirit, and create a meaningful life situation, yet that is not mine to work on, because the meaning of life has been lost before I was born.

I write to bring out the beauty in every area, the dark, the grey and to keep the lighted area lighted. Each syllable brings the night sky to life. A manifestation of Van Gogh's drive to succeed. What words alone cannot adequately portray, to speak in a way that will make a lasting impression.

So, I write, inspired by Van Gogh's artistry, and others' writing aesthetics to explore the depths of my own authenticity, to know me, to let lose and let words do the magic. To paint emotions on the canvas of life, and through my words, a timeless legacy is left as a mark.

Why I write, linked to Van Gogh's art, to share my truth in silence, to let my voice shine from gloom. In the strokes of my pen, I find a purpose and I sigh in satisfaction. I write for no one to see but for many to listen, I write for me and like Van Gogh, I write to truly explore.