"Why did you start to write?" He asked innocently, as if the question was that simple.

I tilted my head and chewed on my bottom lip as many bittersweet moments replayed in my mind. Feelings of gut-wrenching pits forming in my stomach and the strings of my heart being stretched out until they finally snap in defeat make bile run up my throat with a burning sensation. Air esacpes my lungs as I begin to fill trapped in my own agonoy. His deep, serious voice. His stunning, light green eyes. His musky scent. His rough, calloused hands. Everything about him crashes over me and drowns me like a tsunami. All the lonely, depressing emotions, that I have tried to ignore so desperately, resurface as I looked up at the curious and naive cyrstal blue eyes staring back at me. 

"To live." I answered softly.