In Writing

I cannot deny the benefices of writing, displaying itself through my own personal stability, my memory, and even my creativity; for this writing is ever a source of comfort to me, it allows me to remember whatever I choose to record, and even words merely expressing feeling or describing a day's events can be an outlet of creativity as you choose with which words you will attempt to express yourself. This is how I write when I really write. When the words flow from me without thought, without long, drawn out contemplation, without wonderings of what I actually want to say, when they follow no pattern, when the subject on which I write changes frequently simply because my thoughts changed directions and my writing followed; then, and only then, do I consider myself to be writing, the verb that possesses so much meaning for me. That words contains my life, not because writing is my life, but because the words I write hold my life within them. My life is in writing - not because I have captured every detail of everything that has happened in my life on a page, but because those words on that page have succeeded in capturing who I am.