Maybe it was all too much...

He feels it is time to admit defeat. Not with shame or prejudice, but simply acknowledging that he is not special, he is not great, and saddest of all, he is not a writer. If he were any of those things, the world would have surely told him by now - someone would have seen something in him and given him the chance to breakaway. Yet here he stands, as he always has, as he always will, with his heart about to be shattered, and with a future he can see from a mile away, yet still, it will knock him off his feet. All of this means it is time to leave. To say farewell and move on to something simpler. Something more real. Something he can grasp without falling beneath the pressure of being unique. He will go out as pathetically as he came in, and will not cry because it is over, he will rather smile because it happened.