We write as a way to extend our limbs. We use our words to reach out further than we ever could without them. We scrunch them together with pieces of ourselves, shove them in a glass bottle and throw them across the sea, unsure if anyone will ever pick up what we have given to the world. We can only hope that maybe one person, squishing their toes into the sand, seven million miles away, will look up from their own world and stumble upon us smiling up at them from the glass bottle washed up on shore. We can only hope that a person might open the bottle, wishing to discover something of value. We can only hope then, that they would find value. We can only hope that our words and the pieces of ourselves that scream through them have enough power to shake. To make a person think. To make them understand something they didn’t understand before. We can only hope that it ropes a person in and allows them to identify with someone they have never met. To see a person through a thought. Maybe, it provokes a thought so profound that a person resolves to react a little differently to their lives. To stop squishing their toes in the sand and build a castle. Just like that, the writing, the words that have allowed one person to touch another person, otherwise untouchable, across canyons and seas, make a change.
We write for change. We write for connection. We write for understanding.
This is what I believe and this is why I write.