contrapelo

third strike and i ought to be out.

i've been failing again and again and again. the only thing i've consistently succeeded in is walking away. this is probably a sign that this isn't my game to play. i'm not greedy. i know when to give other people their rightful chance.

there doesn't seem to be a way to win against my inner demons. they're far too resilient no matter how strong i preempt their clutches. this is a marathon and i'm only effective at sprinting.

the race should continue on without me. i have to lose the fear of missing out, it doesn't add anything of consequential value. it's merely negative feelings as a result of recognizing the lack that should have been attainable. i must find comfort in trailing behind because that's what happens with me all the time. i'm the disappointing loser. i'm the missing piece never to be found. i'm the tree that fell in the forest that nobody heard. i've gotten so good at losing that i fail to win even if my odds were significantly in my favor.

i'm mostly to blame. i wouldn't have been pegged as a potential success if i hadn't showed any capacity to do well. i really have what it takes. i know it, they know it, even the blind can see what i'm truly capable of. but there's always that one wrong turn that destroys any hope of arriving at the intended destination. i'm to blame for driving the wrong route. i'm to blame for not asking directions. i'm to blame for not stepping on the brakes too late.

i'm to blame for missing the target. and that means something.

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