Compulsion to Write

It’s a small thought. A notion that managed to creep into your mind. You ponder it a moment and your brain stirs it with knowledge. Soon this trivial thought has become a trigger. It tears open your mind as it floods you with curiosity and opinions.

Every waking moment has become this thought. Even as you smile and speak to others, it is rummaging through you. It slowly builds up its structure, growing beyond that ignorant concept. It has become conflict, setting, and plot.

Worlds are drawn and explored in the depths of your mind. People are born, living and breathing within you. Emotional bonds, physical skills, and the burdens of existence are now yours, yet you do not dismiss them. No, you either rip them in hate or bind them with love, creating heroes and villains.

They fight for their reality, proof of their presence. They wish for their minds, homes, and troubles to be shared. You love them for their flaws and stories, unable to bear their destruction by simply forgetting. You desire their existence more than any of them.

So you grab a pen and paper, computer, or phone. Anything you can use to express them. You start placing word after word. Sentences are constructed and they stack into paragraphs. Days to years can be dedicated to this process.

After you ripped up your mind and allowed this world and its people to be unleashed from it, your story is finally complete. Evidence of these lives, imaginary or not, can now be spread to the world or just yourself. You can breathe easier now that they are in a special place. Now that they have a proper home.


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