you hope death is just another great adventure, instead of just an end. then you think hey, maybe an ending is a nice thing. and it is, in it’s own way. in a story, it can be a very satisfying thing. poetic. just. timely.
but it’s a sad thing for the reader of a good book, an end. but then there’s always good books after, and i can continue with this metaphor forever, but the world just spins on regardless. there is no real end, until there is, suddenly THE END