Why do I write?

“Why do you write?” he asked me, looking into my eye. “That’s a very interesting question. I never thought of a reason” I replied. “So, think now and tell me” he asked. I don’t know why he was so curious about why I write. Was he trying to write himself? Or was he doing something else…

Blank page

The blinking cursor was mocking me by reminding that I cannot write. Blinking peacefully, it was laughing silently. “You’ve come to write something now? Let’s see what trash you’re going to write today” Oh, its silent mocks. Never did it make a sound. But it had killed more dreams than an alarm clock. Yet there…