Failure

How does one gain ability to face an oncoming storm with a calmness of heart? Or must one work for it? How does one tell oneself that it is a passing phase, and that the only constant is change? What must one do it convince one's mind that failure is like friction, and to be able to propel forward, friction is essential? Like everyone else, one will fail and one must fail, but the fact is overbearing, and gives no clue on how to face it should it happen to grace one's life. 

One tries not to fail, one tried not to fail. However, such an attempt proved inadequate as exemplified by last Friday's demise of one's hopes. It was not to do better; it was only to maintain- yet it remains the most improbable fact, and what can one do, but wallow in self pity because even though crying over spilled milk is what one would call it, can one help but berate oneself over such carelessness and inadequacy? Can one help the feeling of worthlessness? What does it matter what anyone says, that "it is not the end of the world"? Fairly said, but how can such facts offer comfort when it might as well be the end of one's world- as though being awoken from one's own fictitious realm of dreams and hopeful illusions into a ghastly nightmare of reality? 

Alas, the remainder of hopes no longer depends upon facts and actuality. Ironically, the faculty of imagination provides solace and consoles the afflicted, giving a hint of artificial life to fragments of perished hopes, in which way the persona benefits. Actual life is tumultuous but in even in imagination, there is something immensely rational. Excess of anguish would render one's nature revolting to others. No matter how prodigious the consequences of weakness is to one, it is of no consequence to others. "Success (is) given to the strong, failure thrust upon the weak." And fiction is built upon fact. 

And the writer must write the episode of what one cannot realise.