Hi, Feliz.
Thank you.
I think there are two ways of feeling rejected. Maybe the worst is when it is someone or something that welcomed us in the past. The other is when we knock on a door but the door was not opened to us.

I don’t know if there is one that is worse than the other. Of course, when we know, we got only a glimpse of what is inside. Maybe we spied through the window. Maybe we just like the lawn. Maybe there is a fruit tree or we were as kids threw a toy on our neighbors’s backyard and now we want it back. We suspect it is there, but we cannot know. There is only anticipation.

When a friend has opened the door and then asked us to leave, or when we want to go and visit again and won’t open to us, there’s always (I feel) this feeling of “what have we done? We seemed to be getting along.”

Maybe that is what they now call ghosting.

In any case, there is a mourning. Like I usually say, if there was a mourning, if there is a sadness, then the encounter was worth something. This knowledge doesn’t ease the edge of the pain. I still, somehow mourn the girl who indirectly put me on a plane to LAX about twenty years ago when she said she did not want to see me again. And since I knew it was true and I did not want to roam the corridors of the past como un penitente, I board the plane. Because, at the end, what is dead other than begging again.

Sorry, Feliz, I made it all about me again.

Thank you for stopping by and reading.
(I was doing the relay marathon through the Bosque and I was thinking, how cool if you were there watching! Of course, the weather was foul and no one was there) Talk to you later,
Pablo