Memory - or the lack of it

I write to remember. I write to forget.

I pen things down so I can recall them later, like the notes I write when I listen to people speak. They're there so that I can later recollect the thoughts that went behind what they said. It helps to reinforce information that I've filtered through, my thoughts and my analysis of its arguments. That's why I write. The day I turn an amnesiac (and it isn't far off), what I've penned down will serve to jog my memory into recovery.

I also want to forget. If I were to write it down, it is as if the thoughts were channeled through my thin arm, tingling nerves in my fingers, and finding release through pen and ink. Thoughts flowing freely, black ink on paper. Thus these children of mine leave me, and I can forget. I can free my mind for other things - it is unencumbered by the past, the truly trivial (though I seldom write anything I consider trivial down). Oh yes, I can also forget the hurtful memories.

I write so I don't need to write no more. I write so I don't hurt from remembering. I write so that I can fly free - my thoughts can leave me, and rejoin me later if need be.

I write because I write - when life offers you little else, what you write leaves others a legacy of stars. Writers are unselfish people, for they willingly expose their bare flesh to the reader's torment. Writers are deceitful people, for they lie and hide their real thoughts, obscure the facts.

I regret that I started writing, for it will never stop. No wait... it did.