I like writing. It is a daunting task, yet a fascinating process with unpredictable outcomes.
You write something and it sits there forever. Your thoughts are no longer in your head; they have taken up words, formed sentences and meanings. Someone somewhere reads them, and they smile, cry or get triggered.
And years later, when you visit your old writings, unlike everything else (living or dead, from that time) you find out that your words are still there, unaltered, the way you left them.