i said to him, i said, mister king, i love your epilogues, although they are never really epilogues in that sense. i think they are endings of endings. and i get the best feeling when at the end there, your so-very-likeable character looks back because months or years have passed and he summarizes how things have been going now and this one did that and that one went off there and ended up so and such and that other one is irreparably damaged (a nice person too)... usually such believable things...and then...and then. you write these sentences that make me want to cry because you yourself are obviously such a nice man and you have to tell the reader that however...however... this and that is not quite what it should be, but nonetheless life is going its merry way, yet the main character (or not) tells how things have changed in a super wistful or blue way or they changed or suffer now (more likely)... and she (the other one) never smiled again. ever. or painted again. ever. somehow nothing is the same anymore. nothing is the same anymore...and it breaks my heart the way you say it in bereavement and in such a pensive way that makes me think, mister stephen king, sir, why, why, why did you have to end this book that way?? it's your book, for god's sake! make them all perfect, make it all okay, i love them all so much! please fix them all? real life is hard enough, fix them, FIX THEM...but of course, you never listen...and i understand why cathy bates broke your ankles every time, over and over...AND OVER... that was why, isn't it? that was why! isn't it? isn't it?
YOU ARE READING
parallaxis
Poetryparallax /ˈpærəˌlæks/ noun 1. an apparent change in the position of an object resulting from a change in position of the observer 2. an appar...
