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Their loss.
Their loss.
Close friends and family say. That’s what they say when a writing job opportunity is lost. Or when I’m rejected in love.
Their loss.
How I want to believe them. And I don’t doubt that they mean it. That if I wasn’t in their lives they would feel the loss. Or that they that believe my talents and hard work will pay off. That none of this is for naught.
Their loss.
Currently, I even have a writing job I like (their gain). Still. Rejection from jobs or gigs that I’ve put on a pedestal my whole life and fantasized about hurts— worse even, the closer you are to getting them the more it hurts. You’re right there. You’re about to touch the holy grail but it’s booby-trapped. When you’re close enough and reach towards it, the whole cave collapses on you. And it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
Their loss.
Feel that loss. Feel that pain. That rejection. It never gets easy. The latest rejection reminds you of all the other ones. All the loves lost. But it’s best to feel it. I know that much now. Don’t drown it in booze. Don’t smoke it out with weed. Don’t ignore it. Embrace it. Cry. Get angry. Wallow in self pity for a day and don’t think about all the people who have it worse than you. You deserve that pain. You earned that fresh wound. Tend to it today. Move on tomorrow. Move on because you’ve no other option. Preserver because new opportunities, new memories, new doors will unlock. Don’t they always? Hasn’t life proved this to you? Even if you don’t fully believe it’s their loss. Even if you’re not capable of believing that.
Their loss.
A year was lost. Not just for me and you, for everyone. For the goddamn world. But we’re still here. All the angels in heaven and demons of hell will have to wait for your arrival.
Their loss.
And I know, I know, I’m always going to beat yourself up for not creating more, not producing at a higher quality at a faster rate. However, life is to be lived too. The keyboard and pen aren’t the only loves. There are people and places and experiences. And if I miss out on them. If I miss out on those people, places, experiences— then it’s my loss.
My loss.
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