The Heartbeat of My Pen

Why do I write? I’ve asked myself that more times than I can count. Some days, I know exactly why. Other days, I just feel the pull and follow it. Writing has always been there, waiting for me to show up.

I write because I feel something bigger than myself moving in the quiet. When God speaks, it’s never in shouts(okay sometimes it is)—it’s in whispers. And if I don’t catch them, they’re gone. Writing helps me hold onto what I might otherwise forget.

I write when my thoughts are a mess. Sometimes, getting words on a page is the only way to untangle them. It’s like turning on a light in a dark room—I start to see things more clearly, even if I don’t have all the answers yet.

I write because no one sees the world quite the same way. We all carry different stories, different ways of making sense of things. Sharing my words feels like reaching out a hand…I don’t know who will take it, but maybe someone will.

Mostly, I write because something in me needs to. I see beauty, and I want to capture it. I wrestle with questions, and I want to give them shape. I don’t always know if my words will matter, but I know I have to keep going.

So I do. One word at a time. One heartbeat at a time.