A Cup of Writing

I wonder how writing works for others. I crave writing. 

I crave it similar to the how I crave a cup of coffee in the morning. I can cope, even cope well, without a cup of coffee, but I sigh deeper and smile wider if I have a large cup at the start of my day.

So too writing. I can go without. I'll be okay. I appreciate joy and cheerfulness enough that I can live both out most of the time. Even without time to write.

But if I write, things clear up. Emotions (typically the irrational type) settle. Decisions almost seem to make themselves.

I don't need a topic, though writing within the challenge of one is a good one.

I treasure the moments, the chances to take hold of the thoughts that race, the ideas that float in and out of my head.

I can do without. I'll really be fine. I will however, do better with a nice cup of writing.


What's writing to you? Is it comfort? It is escape? It is a means of peace?