I sometimes ask myself who I am writing for.
Is it for myself, or for someone at the other end? Is it for someone in particular, or anyone who might chance upon reading it?
For thousands of years, human beings (and our more primitive ancestors) have been telling stories through etchings and carvings on rocks, and gathering around fires.
It seems that we have always been drawn to telling stories. Perhaps the written form is another way of doing that.
A need to express (ourselves) and to connect (with others), through verbal and written and other forms of communication; dance, performance, music, and so on.
Perhaps it doesn’t matter who we write for. Somewhere deep down, we know the why. And so we write.