I was at the awful cafe again. I started hating the site and smell of this place. It always seemed to have the same set of people in it – including Christine. She looked at me with her gray eyes, waiting for me to say something.
Eventually, she simply asked: “What's wrong?”
I looked at her. I must have been an awful site – I hadn't shaved or brushed my hair since my story disappeared.
“It's gone,” I managed to muster. “The whole story is gone.”
She looked at her coffee as she contemplated what to say comfort me; but, I knew there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say, that would make me feel better.
“Perhaps... perhaps you just need to let go.”
“Just let go? After the work I've put into it? I need to finish it, Christine. You of all people should know that.”
“I know, but I think you should just move on from this story.”
“Because you think it was an awful story?”
“No, because at some point, you need to realize that you can't finish every project you start.”
“I don't want to let this story go.”
“I don't think you have a choice.”