Why do we create?

 

I don't know if we could ever understand fully why people create the things they do.

They could try to explain it but can it all really be said?

Why does someone's story spin out of love and someone's out of sorrow?

Why do people say some words and blur out so many?

Why did someone paint everything in yellow when their dreams were all in blue?

Why do some people create with skin and teeth, and mud and sweat while some create things only in some tiny little corner inside themselves?

What makes them decide so?

Their mind, their heart?

Some silent being inside them that never speaks but only sees and listens?

A person in a person

Tell me,

You, who made all the effort to create something inside and outside of you,

Why did you do so?