The firefly in my soul is burning my body. It makes me run until I'm near death, then gives me a few seconds to catch my breath. Then, chop-chop, back to the hustle! Again. The six strings become my entire world as I get lost in the web of possibilities that are just aching to be realized, be seen, and be heard. My words melt onto the page, taking form as the led of my pencil turns into liquid gold that bleeds out of my pores when I cry. I want to cry. I need to cry. I want my tears to turn into lines that form sentences that stab people's hearts like the spear of lightning that was birthed in the caves of Zeus's fingerprints. I want my fingerprints to be remembered. I want my sentences to be kept in a museum beside those ancient teapots that were used by some fat king. I want my six strings to become someone's entire world, their entire universe. I wanna be famous. I want to play with my life. I wanna destroy it and bring it back with the help of my firefly. This firefly runs through my veins faster than my blood, faster than my pain, faster than my joy, and faster than... me. It is my desire and my friend. It is my desire to be a friend. It is my poison and my medicine. It is everything. I love my firefly.