Why I write.

I walk the lonely street, an errand to run. A short walk to the grocer’s, but so many moments and pictures waiting to be taken.

So many sounds that I want to capture: the conversation between a boy and his grandma, barks and yelps, loud TV shows, the breeze, leaves on the street, a distant vehicle, my sandals, coins in my pocket and a bird.

I want to stop, wait and listen to more. I want to stop and capture something from that walk. A photo maybe. But what would a photo tell you apart from the emptiness of the street. How would you know about all the sounds that are not a part of the picture?

That is why I write. To paint a picture with words.



One thought on “Why I write.

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