On finding unexpected pockets of pain, and dreading how the story ends

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I’ll start with stories. I love to read stories. I become irrationality and unnecessarily emotionally involved in stories and the encapsulated characters. I just spent the better part of three weeks living in a world conceived by someone else’s mind, learning to love the (at times irritating) characters, and just as the final book is coming to a close, the fucking kick-ass protagonist gets killed off, leaving an intense love dangling limp, lending an unsatisfying and depressing void where a happily ever could have been. I’m looking at you Roth. Why did you have to do it?! It’s like Alice Morgan all over again. Abandoned as I am by the untimely departure of a strong and unique character who I have at times, wished I could be.

Endings suck. I always want the story to keep on going, taking me further into the dream world, letting me live in the intimacy of someone elses fantasy.

Yes, endings are, generally speaking most comprehensively unsatisfactory.

As for the pockets of pain, well. I found one in a hotel. I found a whole hotel brimming with dread and memories and the fear that if I stepped foot inside, I’d break the spell and lose what I had when I was last there. I remember how we had tea together by the window, chatting about how beautiful the city is, how much they loved it here. Smiling and joking about how the restaurant was so dark that they couldn’t see their food! That was the last place I saw them that is not tainted by what came after. It was preserved in my head as a time capsule of memory, Something to revisit in my head, but never in person. Thinking about going there just reminded me of the pain that I’ve been tying down, dampening with anything I can grab a hold of but grief can find some peculiar times to remind you that you are still bearing a gaping hole in your life that no-one else can ever fill. The tears dried up before I set foot inside and it looks and feels like a different place now. I’m not afraid to go back tomorrow, but I’m still trying to stop playing the images over and over and mourning my losses. They would want me to remember, but not to be in pain.

Someone recommend me a damned good book with a happy or at least neutral ending please. I need some literary hope!

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. What can I say?
Someone very dear to someone very dear to me died this morning. I’m on my way to comfort her as best I can.

I make it sound so distant. It’s not. He wasn’t.

I’m angry
I’m sad
I’m shocked

The world just doesn’t look quite the right complement of colour, and yet the sun shines on regardless. How can that be?

I hope I can be some help
I hope the dog doesn’t bite me
I hope I don’t see anyone I know while in this most unflattering state of ungroomed horror.

.

Another dream

I dreamt of Abbie again.

It has been over five years since her passing yet I mourn her still.

I could never have asked for a more faithful friend, more loyal, more loving, more trusting, and she saved me from utter hopelessness by always getting through to me where others could not. I wonder if she had been a human whether we would have been such good friends, but being of the four-legged and waggy-of-tail variety of mammal she was destined for a shorter life than me, and when I told her I wanted to be alone, she just focussed her shining slightly crossed eyes on me padded forward and settled down beside me. We all joked about how brainless and dumb she was, but the fact is, she had wisdom that let her break through my walls where no-one and nothing else could. When things were at their darkest, I thought I could have exited this plain without causing much fuss, but it wasn’t thinking of my family that really stopped me in my tracks, nor was it thinking of friends (were there any?), or neighbours, or some imaginary gods, my only thought was that I couldn’t leave HER. We had been pups together, grown up as sisters and had been granted each other as a rare soul mate (loath though i am no use that phrase) and how could I turn my back on that? I have not found another living thing which I can share such a connection with since her passing, and maybe I never will, but i will always have her memory.

So when she comes into my dreams, I don’t want to wake up, I just don’t want to wake up.

I wish you were here
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