So, I wrote something for the very end of my novel the other day. And it’s really really short; and I kinda thought it was pretty; and I haven’t had much actual writing up in a while, and it’s REALLY really unedited. So here it is:
There is a quote that tells us that for those who feel, life is the worst kind of tragedy; and for those who think, life is a comedy.
All of us live by this quote, whether or not they realize it.
The disappearance or murder of one of the only people that’s ever truly loved you will make life into the worst kind of tragedy. What one of us can blame them? Do we not feel the loss of those we love?
Some of us bounce back from our setbacks, and we are better for it. Others don’t.
So Renee could let go of Charlie’s hand; and Lila Marie could continue to cry, alone, in the room that she’d lost everything in, and Olivia could take on the idendity of her lost best friend; and Hazel could continue to push away the only person who’d ever cared about her. And what was it for?
It was for the thrill. The rush that life gives us. That feeling of crushing despair after a loss that could make victory seem much, much more sweet than it would have been.
It’s for the feeling of knowing that you haven’t just existed; it’s for knowing that you’ve lived.