Must I write?

Nothing fills you with the desire to write more than when you have freshly finished a book. Especially if said book has jabbed new ideas, new creations, new words inside you. Then a question is asked within yourself. Must I write? I instantly get intimidated and step on each word with trepidation. After all, English is my second language and in daily life I find it difficult to compose sentences that express a full idea. I seldom mumble the words I say and lose assurance of my greater idea and the sense of my thoughts get steamed with uncertainty. But even then, even if the grammar fails, must I still write? Then i go back to what i've done or to what has happened to me during these years; everything streamlines to the present up until the last word of the book I've just read. Then the certainty strains weakly through my fingers; it regrets some words and it replaces it with others. As I write I notice the abundance of the word "and" and instantly i revise its use and see if that is a fault of mine or simply that's the way my life has developed: a constant addition and compliment of one event to the other. Now see, nothing has happened yet; A story hasn't been formed nor a clear idea of the meaning of things has been expressed. Yet. There hasn't been a metaphor explaining how I see things but plainly I 've described my feelings as they are; they don't seem to look or to resemble anything else at the moment. However, if I make an slight effort I could say that finishing the book I've just read deserves a metaphor. It is, then, like the first time a butterfly has opened its wings and has discovered it is no longer a caterpillar and that it must fly. Yes, i also think that butterflies and wings are considered hackneyed picturesque objects of which a metaphor can be simply constructed, but I am not an expert and little by little bigger, more sophisticated comparisons will sprout. I feel that the ephemeral beauty of a butterfly it's more enjoyable than the long journey in life of the sluggish caterpillar. Life happens in slow motion and the years I've lived has shown me that I have memories that haven't moved; that are left in complete inertia. Regardless of the language I speak at the moment I will say something to dust off the time of the memories I have and if it sounds wrong and if my metaphors don't bear truth, I will then go back and correct them.