What's the point of trying to succeed in something you love if you aren't good at it? Or at least, people don't seem to think you're good at it. For once, I'd like some recognition. I'd like to be noticed. I'd like to be the one who wins the writing competition because this is what I want to do with the rest of my life. This is what I love. This is my passion, my heart, my soul, my everything. And I’m apparently not good at it. I don't see the point in it anymore. I guess I just shouldn't try because the most unlikely people are the ones winning and I’m not. Me, the one who is serious about doing this for the rest of her life. Me, who isn't ever going to succeed because she's just not good enough. Me. Semi-depressed or not, I thought that I was actually good at this writing thing. I thought that my writing made people feel something. And that’s what it’s supposed to do. So every time I see the list of names and my name isn’t one of them, a little piece of me dies. That dream I have of becoming a famous author slips a little farther away, into the land of impossibilities. Far, far away to a place where I can’t see it. Because if I’m not good enough to win now, what’s going to change when I’m older? Nothing. I’ll still be the nobody name from Nowhere, USA, just trying to make it in the world. Drowning in self-pity and alone. Forgotten.