Words, Words, Words

Reading makes me giddy. I love being totally caught up in a fictional world. When I'm in the pages of a book, my thoughts are completely consumed, no matter where I am or what I am doing. It's as if the events of those imagined characters are my own experiences. It always lingers in the back of my mind throughout my entire day. Every waking moment, every beat of my heart takes me back to a place I've never been, with friends I've never met. They so fully consume me and demand from me a higher loyalty that is reserved only for those of fictional characters. But, with such devotion comes easy heartbreak. When I read, I have such high standards for the character's choices in life, thus it is easy for them to disappoint. But even through all of their decisions that make me grimace, I kindle hope in my heart for their end. But, no matter how beautiful the journey or how hopeful I am, it is the ending that creates or breaks the beauty of a novel. A good ending is like a sunny day. It warms the heart and gives a lightness to my mind. It opens doors of wonder and loveliness. It encourages and rekindles any dying hope. It gives satisfaction and a sense of wonder like none other. But, just as the good ending of a book can create a world of joy, so can the tragic ending create a feeling of complete and utter misery. The poor ending to a book is like a bite from a poisonous snake. The initial sting is painful and fearful, but long after the ending has subsided, the wound is left to fester. So does the pain of a bad ending endure. It too, consumes all of me. My mood is easily fooled and my words abruptly harsh. My day is long and the pain is cruel. My thoughts are burdened and a bile taste fills my mouth. Why should I react thus? It is merely words on a page. I fear, for my own sake, that the poor ending of a book will be like the horrific ending of my own life. Will I face such an end? Will my story be one to disappoint? I fear it might and thus my reactions are more personal than might first be hinted at. All our lives are stories. How will they end?