Why Do You Write?
written by: Enviara
“Why do you write?” he asked.
I took a breath — the kind that fluttered in your chest like it had something to say but wasn’t sure it should. I gave him a hesitant smile.
The hesitation wasn’t because I didn’t know the answer — I knew it too well.
It was the fear.
Not of the truth, but of being seen through it.
“I guess… to express myself,” I said, sitting a little straighter, as if posture could pass for confidence — as if it might keep him from asking more.
But he just looked at me — curious, patient — like he could hear everything I wasn’t saying.
I thought of all the times I was told to hush.
To speak only when spoken to.
To answer what was asked — nothing more.
“I’m not good with words,” I added.
He smiled — soft, sure — and said like he’d practiced it a thousand times,
“But you write so well.”
I looked at him and smiled.
“Paper doesn’t interrupt you,” I said.
“Unlike people.”
And that was the first time I ever felt heard.
***
Ten years later.
“Mom, do you think I talk a lot?”
He’s five, frowning — his small fingers tugging at the hem of his T-shirt like it might give him an answer.
The way he pouts feels familiar — déjà vu, but with softer edges.
I crouch down to his height, brushing a curl off his forehead.
“No. Why do you ask?”
He shrugs — that kind of heavy shrug that holds more than a child should have to carry.
“Some people said I do.”
Just then, his father walks in — older now, quieter around the edges, but still the boy who once asked me why I wrote.
He kneels beside us and says,
“I fell in love with your mom because she never stopped talking — maybe not always out loud, but in the way she wrote, the way she noticed things, the way her silence still said everything.”
I laugh, gently.
Then I turn to our son and say,
“Me and your father? We love hearing everything you say — every word, every thought, every made-up story.”
He beams.
And just like that, the quiet lifts.
He starts talking again — about a blue dinosaur who can fly and play the violin — and we listen.
Really listen.
The kind of listening I once thought only existed on paper.
The kind that says:
You’re safe. You’re heard. You matter.
- Matches - November 7, 2025
- Why Do You Write? - August 19, 2025
- Scintillating Echoes of Petrichor - May 10, 2025
