I worry quite a lot of late.
Mostly that I no longer have the time to be what I should be.
My talent's too dim to be the next bright thing.
I'm much too old to die too young.
But, but, but...
If I don't fan the embers to a blaze, I'm guaranteed descent to ash grey grave.
If I don't try.
I risk a spark short burn that no-one sees but me, but surely that blaze has to be.
Surely it does.
And I might as well burn as bright as I can; I'll be going out in the end anyway.
And if no-one sees, so what?
What will be lost?
And who notices ash anyway?
I'll have been true to my source; I'll have reached my pinnacle.
Others will burn brighter. Others will be hotter.
But they're not me.
And they may have been brighter yet; their true potential may have been denied.
Mine will not have been. I will have been the best I can.
So I'll have won. I think.
Time to fetch that fan.
(And who knew I could still write like a 14 year old?)