I held the book that I had poured my heart into for the past
week, barely in my hands. The sense of accomplishment and completeness I often
looked for at the end of every read had been replaced by despair and emptiness.
Where was the happy ending I had hoped for? Part of me thought I must have read
it wrong. Surely, it could not have ended that way. Perhaps there would be a
sequel where they would joke and say “Ha! We fooled you”. It couldn’t end this
way. But it did, and now I can’t cope. All I want is one happy ending. One
happy ending, so I could forget that they so seldom happen in my own life. But
if make believe stories can’t have happy endings, then what hope is there for
mine?