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“Why Do I Write?
Isn’t it obvious?
I write because these words
form a bridge
that take me to you.
Go to my desk
and ask my pen.
Swift through the once naked pages
and ask the ink:
Why does she write?
They’ll reaffirm these words:
She is proud of you.
She is proud of knowing you,
of loving you.
Yes, proud. I am proud
to have chosen you to love.
To me, it isn’t even a question�
one must always yield to love.
Yes, love. We must love
if only because we are alive.
But who to love—that is the question.
I write because
you are my answer.”