upon writing a short story

As I catch myself writing for the first time in a long time tonight, I think maybe everything does happen for a reason.

With my selfish ways....

In my selfish ways, I cut ties with those beautiful souls around me. In my own selfish way, I tend to forget the emotions of those who are not myself.

In my own selfish way, I tend to break the heart of the girl closest to me.

In my own selfish way, I am scared.

Twists and turns in this life have left me heaving at the side of my path, trying to gather some sense of direction. Shut down and disoriented, I have gained my composure and pressed on. I tend to need something out of this life. I need to get some foundation underneath me. I need to invest myself in my greater personal qualities.

So I am selfish and grow further and further away from the man I really am.

Will the cool mountain air refresh my soul or will I be so far gone that I will lose the part of myself I am trying to protect?