I initially did it just to be doing something.
True enough I still do it, but, as of late, it serves a far greater purpose.
Don't get me wrong. Beforehand, as I received more than my share of pleasure, I offered absolutely no complaints. Everything was everything. Though part of me quietly wondered why I failed to possess the intensity required in order to push it to the limit.
It was during such reflection that I quickly realized something was missing. A key ingredient, if you will. I ultimately found there to be no passion involved. Which, in my case, proved to be the difference between having love and being in love.
A hopeless romantic; I would rather be in love, as if I cannot live without.
In an effort to understand why I lacked this much needed emotion, and perhaps obtain it, I slowly turned my attention towards other things in life. Or, whatever it took for me to see things for what they really are.
They say - in order to find something, sometimes you have to stop looking, and allow it to find you. Of course there were other things which captured my interest, yet none of which left me captivated.
That is, until one day I reached deep within and discovered feelings that had been overlooked, unknown beforehand. In that invaluable moment, not only had I mastered the ability to transform raw emotion, but I also developed the spirit to read between the lines; finish sentences; add exclamation.
Eventually, I found myself unable to live without it.
So, nowadays, whether laid back in my bed, or stretched across the couch or drifting off while thoroughly engaged, one can find me with my face hurled off into the act itself.
In other words, there is no question whatsoever - writing is my passion.