There is nothing more excruciating than rejection. Holding your heart out on a platter, offering it to one whose soul you see mirrored in your own, only to be told no. No, it’s not good enough. You are not good enough. 

You are not enough. 

The sting burrows its way inside, not content to settle just under the skin, but needling deep into the void where your heart was before it was ripped out. That’s what I was reflecting on, anyway, when a voice interrupted my thoughts. 

“Is this seat taken?”