A God?

Has being a creator ever been an excuse just to have something to talk about? Was me being a writer just a reason, a fear of God, to be greater in my own little world? Was that simple, or was that complicated?

I really just needed a personality and found one. What was the cause? I don't know. Fire. And fire evaporates things quickly, quickly eviscerate, yet it's preserved for all eternity. It's always alive. It's always valuable.

I wanted my writing to live on. I wanted to share a story, but the story is overtime. I talked about myself anyway, so even though my stories changed, I haven't. Or even though I have changed, the story hasn't. And is that the source of this conflict between my new self and the recovery of my whole self? My ego? I don't know.

What I do know is that it's going to kill me. I don't think I'll survive this one. My writing is calling me back to my old ways, but in my new way, I'm not a god anymore. I'm listening. I thought for sure the writing was.