You're a story I tried to write.
With all elements good.
I had sleepless nights. A writer's block.
Struggling with all I had, to give you the life I dreamt about. To inspire.
Eons later, i gave up. It was making me a monster.
I couldn't breathe around it; tore it into hundreds of bits and pieces.
Then burnt it down to ashes.
Im old and weak now; a monster nevertheless. You lure me to open you up, again
Dip that feather with ink and scribble your story to immortality. Despise myself, meanwhile.
It's ashes, my dear. It's gone. You can't recreate from ashes.
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