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Fuck. So that’s what? Eight years of my life? Thirteen with everyone’s expectations on my shoulders? Months of hard work? Writing until my fucking fingers hurt? Suffering trying to make sure I made it? I was so close. I was so fucking close. So goddamn close. The rug always has to come out from under my feet, huh. What’s the fucking problem? Am I not good enough? I put aside everything. Everyone to make sure that all that fucking work payed off. That it wouldn’t be useless. And yet here I am. Drowning in a river of tears and failure shoved down my throat. Fuck. And it wasn’t even me who made a mistake. I had it set. Success was guaranteed. And here I am once again, suffering for someone else’s mistake and not even allowed to chow my tears.
“Cut your losses” you see, what you don’t understand is that after I ‘cut my losses’ I don’t have a goddamn thing left.