There are so many reasons why I love writing, little ones, like the sound of my nails as they click away on the keyboard, the perfect rhythm of long fingers. I love seeing words appear, of misspelling and respelling. Writing is eternal, no matter how much progress you have made, it will always be there to finish, always be there to change. The only form of time travel I know of, I can be everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
I love that even though words are the basis of how humans express their feelings putting them to paper automatically makes it different, more precious and permeant, even though it can be erased with my ring finger or a swipe of a black pen.
My writing starts in my imagination, and after that first draft is done it is tossed into the endless sea of stray papers and stories, of chapters fully realized but never recorded and characters that will never truly be born. Its the feelings I will never utter, the anger I will never express. Wishes and fears too terrifying to dream about.
What I love most about writing is no matter how long I stop, no matter how long I leave the unrealized pages in the endless ocean I can always return and pick up where I left off.