Why I write?

Why I write?
 Ha! Is that even a question.
My pen caresses my paper in a slow gentle way.
 The way my sweaty palm grips my pen, making a permanent mark on my ring finger.
 The smell of fresh lined paper, it's aroma makes me all tingly inside.
Why I write?
 I write because  my mind is my resource, my mind hold my feelings, and my mind is my pen.
Why I write?
The words just stumble on the paper in a jolly kind of way, they don't care if it's a sad story or not.
They just happy they can help me express how I really feel.
Why I write?
 When I write, the world stops and all I see is my paper and my pen.
The tip of my pen touch the blue line on the white track and it's off.
Why I write?
I write because I can be myself, and don't have to act a certain way, it's me and my pen.
​Why I write?
Ha! Is that even a question.
Why you write?