If only my grandfather had left me a thought on paper. But he utters not a single word now as he scans the room from his photo on the wall. His words are silent forever. The date on the back written by the photographer is all I get. April 21, 1918.
Words become more important with the passage of time.
I want to be part of the future. Answering this question is often more difficult than asking it, but I believe I know the reasons. I write to understand. If I want to understand life, love, God or nature I must pen my thoughts. I find peace in learning through my own words who I am and what this world means to me.