This is why I write.
To know that someone will listen to my words.
That for the time it takes to read a piece aloud,
I will witness my own life.
Catching hold of ephemeral thoughts,
elusive as cloudscapes, translating them
into symbols formed with syllables,
that leave our mouths in patterns of breath
creating a bridge of vibration to carry
fragments of our soul
to the curves and drums and fluids that
transform and funnel thoughts into electrical charges,
triggering nerve synapses—until
we literally become a part of one another,
a chemically embedded experience, a new memory.
This is why we write.