Epiphany.

My mentor asked me a few weeks ago "Did you ever think about this - Who are you writing to?"... I've been thinking about this, on &off, I get into it deep with myself... I brush it off... I ask it to other writer friends of mines... to see if their answers hold an answer similar to what I've been searching for. Some satisfaction, so I can go to him &have a discussion with him, some approval or just an answer. But I have come up with none &anyone I have asked, has not come up with an answer.

"And then it comes to me, like an epiphany."

I'm not writing to anyone. I'm not directing my words; be it poetry, blogs, texts, IMs, or statuses to anyone. I'm writing them for someone. The ability of words to change a persons perspective on a situation, the way for words to cleanse the soul... there's a reason why people have a thing for melodies &quotes. There's a familiarization and comfort in the words we find. We can affiliate and associate through words. We can spark wars over words. We can dismiss feelings and emotions in words. We can make money in words. Beliefs in entirety are born from words. Words are power.

So I write for someone. For myself, for my love, for my family, for my friend, for a poet, for a foe, for a professor - for you Dave. I write. It's not so much a hobby, it's an questionable need, more than a habit, an addiction. If I do nothing else, I will write. I will write because it is all I know, and by me knowing to write, I know so much more in characters I build myself. Integrating myself structurally through the sculpting of the various forms of word; the smallest free form, an item that may be uttered in isolation with semantic or pragmatic content, in a language, in contrast to a morpheme, which is the smallest unit of meaning.

I find content in my content.