That awful feeling.
When all you want to say, has already been said.
Said better than you could ever have said it.
Thought better than you could ever have thought.
Put better than you could ever have put.
When you wish you had been born earlier.
That you had spoken, written, thought, put faster.
And that feeling.
When what has been said, becomes what you wanted to say.
What has been thought, what you wanted to think.
What has been written, what you wanted to write.
When you wish that what you love had been yours.
Yours before you had read it, heard it, seen it.
That you had written it, thought it, felt it.
That you had brought it into the world.
That you owned it, because you had said it.
And then that feeling.
When you step back, and you look, and you admire, and you accept that it isn't yours.
And you love it all the more because it isn't.
And you strive all the more because it isn't.
And you hope-just hope-that one day.
One day, you can go from envying, to envied.
From loving, to loved.
From yearning, to yearned for.
From taking, to giving.
And that you can contribute, you can contribute, something, however little, to that brilliance out there.
That you can be on the other side.
The writer's side.
~Sam
