I am this close [ ] to giving up.
To measure the space of what I have left could break me or keep me afloat. That space could be a millimeter of patience, or enough to keep me going until I die.
I am being cryptic.
In simpler words, I received two rejections today. One of me; one of my novel. A double whammy for the weekend.
I don’t think it’s gonna happen for me. This is reality now, not the fantasy world I so desperately want to live in.
I live here. I am not getting out of here. This is the life I am living, and it is a normal one, on the ground, with everyone else.
There is nothing wrong with that. There is nothing wrong.