Do you ever have the sense that you're running out of time? Do you feel the looming deadline fast approaching? The one that tears apart your identity at the seams? Do you live with the urgency befitting of your station? No? Let me tell you how it is:
There is a fundamental need residing deep within me, to spread my light and song, to uplift hearts and impart wisdom. Flames will fade, but light is something worth having, something to cling onto in the dark cycles of eternity. I radiate energy, direction, and perspective. I feel it cooking underneath my skin, ready to create and consume, but limited by simple words and the laws of physics. It burns me up from the inside out. I have no release valve (or, if I do, it isn't wide enough). I cannot possibly act fast enough to ever satisfy the crushing void…
Boiling it down; I must etch myself into the fabric of the world. To leave a tangible mark, something that will outlast me, something the endless expanse of time will struggle to quash. An imprint of myself, composed of memories and melodies and rambling anecdotes and chat logs and games and stories.
I am glad I was born when I was. At no other point in time would I have been able to reach those so far abroad, throwing ideas against the world, seeking a target for myself, an errant missile. I love this. I love feeling immortal, divine, those little moments when I can see that I've truly improved another's life.
But in those moments there is melancholy. Will I ever be able to reach my own lofty expectations? Will I ever make enough small differences for it to all add up? Will I ever make a *big* difference? If I die, will I blot out the world or will I stand as a beacon, light cast out across the sands of time, ethereal yet tangible, giving me life in the minds of others? I *must* say yes; any other answer is a betrayal of my own principles.