“It’s Valentines day,” his sister told him as he stroked the edge of the portrait he kept next to the small, heart-shaped, blood-stained note containing the words “rejected” and “nothing more to live for, thanks to you.” While he looked at the finger her ring used to occupy, all he could mutter was “Yeah, I know.”
“It’s tearing me up Ma all these rejection letters are getting piled up on my counter from everywhere I sent my work to and they all come back to me with illegible red ink glaringly scrawled across them which no one in their right mind can read so how am I supposed to know how to make them better?”
I could hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice over the crackling phone line “I’m sure you will be crying me a river about these rejections when you have your first book published until then buck up and grow a backbone.”
I’m glad I got dumped by everyone before my current boyfriend, and that I couldn’t get hired for any job until the one I’ve got now. I was willing to settle for something mediocre, but time and again, rejection spared me that fate.
The day he received his rejection letter from Harvard, he buried his face in a towel and wept. He wasn’t sad for himself, but for his parents.