An Explanation of My Enigmatic Obsession | Teen Ink

An Explanation of My Enigmatic Obsession

January 26, 2012
By stillinalgoe BRONZE, Orland Park, Illinois
stillinalgoe BRONZE, Orland Park, Illinois
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

I never fell in love with writing. I fell in love with words, with people, and with the world. I write as a consequence of this. I write because I need to.
Words alone possess a majestic beauty. The potency found in a strong word is powerful enough to affect the world around us, but the strength and unity of a story is unparalleled. A woven world, knitted together with sentences, chapters, stories, and characters, has the potential to change a person. It has the power to change the world, even from hundreds of years in the past. Thoughts are fleeting, but words are timeless. I write to sift through my mind, to understand myself, and to immortalize ideas.
I believe that converting thoughts from ideas to words and coherent sentences indicates a certain form of understanding. To express one’s feelings and complex emotions through words indicates a unique awareness of self. The human mind is messy, illogical, and disorganized, and to put it down onto paper is a wonderfully fascinating form of introspection. Fabricating stories can be a detached and impersonal activity, but the touching, world-changing, life-altering works are the ones that dig deep within the human psyche, and spark thoughts that can change the world.

For me, living has always been an integral part of writing. Living is necessary to write, and writing is necessary for living. Words may fill me so that my world becomes more vivid and patterned, but in order to create beauty from words, I first need to live in a meaningful way. When I’m thinking logically, I find that writing is something I do to improve my sense of self, but when I think with my heart, writing is my life. Writing satisfies the instinctual, burning hunger for beauty that tugs at my heart.
So, I both live and write because I have to. As raindrops settle in my hair, words form on my lips. When I feel sorrow, I slowly breathe in sentences. When I am joyful, stories dance across my skin. My love of writing is the most beautiful form of madness I have yet to experience, and I dearly wish to cultivate it within myself.



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