Recently (ok, fine, not that recent, but pretty recently) I read somewhere that some people cried when Harry Potter "died" in the seventh book of the infamous series.To say the least...
I don't really understand. I'm sorry, but I didn't even feel sad when it happened. Because as we all know, our dear Madame Rowling would never do that, although it might possibly have some interesting consequences.
Actually, I've only (almost) cried once when reading a book. Specifically, one part of a book: the final letter written to Hastings by Poirot at the end of Curtain: Poirot's Final Case. That was about, what, two years ago when I read it? And every time I see it, I still feel sad... There's a big difference. I guess I've come to love his character over the course of reading the Poirot books. Not to say that I don't like Harry, but it's just not the same, you know? Poirot is like... so real, that except for a few unlikely characteristics, he could very well exist in the real world. (I would love it if he did.)
God, what am I going to do with my life? I want to do everything, and I can do everything. I can do everything, but I can't do anything. If I can't do anything, then what's the point of doing everything?
I wish I knew the answers...
