Why do I write? When a pen is put unto paper the fabric of the universe and the glass encasing it shatters. The walls are lowered, new doors are opened and a journey begins. I write because perhaps, for once, my writing will be the one students toil over, spending class time analyzing it in search of a meaning. There is, of course, a meaning tucked in between the lines so subtly that even when I have presented the world my secret, they will remain unknowing. I write because the world holds me back; with no expectations, there are no limits. The pages between these two bound covers are numbered, yet boundless. I write because the same content indifferent person I am is a mask to the eyes that see differently than yours. And lastly, among the plethora of reasons more, I write because I will never be satisfied with my life - haunted by the various courses and roads I could have but did not take. By writing, these alternative parallels come to fruition, and my unending ‘what-ifs’ will be answered in a non uniformed manner. Through writing, I answer the questions that seemingly have no answer. Through writing, through eloquence- I find peace.