i sobbed myself to sleep last night after watching deathly hallows pt. 1. no, it wasn't because the movie was super sad, although it was, and it wasn't because i'm a ninny and needed a good cry. i have robert pattinson in remember me for that. jesus i sob like a jr high school girl after she finds out her crush is dating her bff when i watch that movie.

but this was different sobbing. this was my inner child coming through and fucking givin'er with the tears. i haven't cried that much in... years. the silent sob, the facial distortion-- all of it. i'm not generally a crier. sure i'll tear up and get bleary eyed but for reals, i don't cry.

yet this movie made me a blubbering idiot.

for starters: a lot of people die. okay, not so much people as in creatures. i disliked dobby the house elf but, for god sakes harry potter people! that death scene was just cruel. it was bad enough that i'd sat through hedwig's death and fucking mad eye's. yes, i read the books so i knew what was coming but for GOD FUCKING SAKES that was just lemon juice in the wounds. i've never felt so downtrodden; so immensely hopeless feeling; so lost.

the main reason i sobbed is that this is my childhood-- you tried to savour the books because you didn't want to rush through them but you ended up pulling an all nighter and reading the whole book in one sitting. you closed your eyes and dreamed about magical balls in halls dressed up like an ice castle, a dashing man at your side. you imagined what it would be like to see the world of harry potter and got lost in the niches and nooks of every world j.k rowling provided. you made friends with the characters be they big or small; you formed relationships with harry, ron and hermione. you could always trust on them for an adventure-- trolls, giants, spiders you name it-- and they'd always get you out safely (even if ron is a bit of a pessimist). these books were the beauty of childhood imagination. i grew up long before harry did, but i always felt a kind of kinship with him. when we met, we were the same age. by the time the books finished, i was only two years older than him, but i felt like we were still two peas in a pod.
and you'll never get that again. it'll never be like the first time you picked up the philosphers stone. you'll never have another first time reading the last words on the last page of the last book. this was big-- bigger than i realized-- and it's drawing to a (allbeit tidy) close. and that's what makes me cry hardest: the fact that it's gone on to be a cherished memory instead of an anticipated, lurking feeling. once the last book came out, i reasoned that there would still be movies to look forward to. now that there's only one movie to look forward to, and although i am looking forward to it, i'm dreading it. it means the end. fin. nothing more. all is not well, jo. your fans are moving on, reluctantly because what else can we do? there's nothing more for us. we can re-read and re-watch all we want but it'll never be like the first time. there won't be any more midnight book releases that cause pandemodium. there can't be.

as much as i'm upset, and heartbroken at the very thought that in july it's all over i know that it's for the best. it's closure on a chapter of my life that has always been in the back of my mind-- an intristic part of my childhood. i'll never fully let go of my childhood, and nor should i, but this is something difinitive.

i'm all over the place-- the tears that leaked throughout my typing of this made it difficult to focus. just know that this is "such a beautiful place to be with friends."

fucking gut wrenching.

b; old enough to know better; attached.
college student of historical events, future educator. canadienne. i like to read, but i don't do it enough. i run. i like zombies. i'm obsessed with all things batman, except not batfleck. i'm a terrible video game player, but i'm getting better through attrition. i can play piano pretty good, though. the sound of city streets soothes me, but i love the silence of the forest. curious stargazer.

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i sobbed myself to sleep last night after watching deathly hallows pt. 1. no, it wasn't because the movie was super sad, although it was, and it wasn't because i'm a ninny and needed a good cry. i have robert pattinson in remember me for that. jesus i sob like a jr high school girl after she finds out her crush is dating her bff when i watch that movie.

but this was different sobbing. this was my inner child coming through and fucking givin'er with the tears. i haven't cried that much in... years. the silent sob, the facial distortion-- all of it. i'm not generally a crier. sure i'll tear up and get bleary eyed but for reals, i don't cry.

yet this movie made me a blubbering idiot.

for starters: a lot of people die. okay, not so much people as in creatures. i disliked dobby the house elf but, for god sakes harry potter people! that death scene was just cruel. it was bad enough that i'd sat through hedwig's death and fucking mad eye's. yes, i read the books so i knew what was coming but for GOD FUCKING SAKES that was just lemon juice in the wounds. i've never felt so downtrodden; so immensely hopeless feeling; so lost.

the main reason i sobbed is that this is my childhood-- you tried to savour the books because you didn't want to rush through them but you ended up pulling an all nighter and reading the whole book in one sitting. you closed your eyes and dreamed about magical balls in halls dressed up like an ice castle, a dashing man at your side. you imagined what it would be like to see the world of harry potter and got lost in the niches and nooks of every world j.k rowling provided. you made friends with the characters be they big or small; you formed relationships with harry, ron and hermione. you could always trust on them for an adventure-- trolls, giants, spiders you name it-- and they'd always get you out safely (even if ron is a bit of a pessimist). these books were the beauty of childhood imagination. i grew up long before harry did, but i always felt a kind of kinship with him. when we met, we were the same age. by the time the books finished, i was only two years older than him, but i felt like we were still two peas in a pod.
and you'll never get that again. it'll never be like the first time you picked up the philosphers stone. you'll never have another first time reading the last words on the last page of the last book. this was big-- bigger than i realized-- and it's drawing to a (allbeit tidy) close. and that's what makes me cry hardest: the fact that it's gone on to be a cherished memory instead of an anticipated, lurking feeling. once the last book came out, i reasoned that there would still be movies to look forward to. now that there's only one movie to look forward to, and although i am looking forward to it, i'm dreading it. it means the end. fin. nothing more. all is not well, jo. your fans are moving on, reluctantly because what else can we do? there's nothing more for us. we can re-read and re-watch all we want but it'll never be like the first time. there won't be any more midnight book releases that cause pandemodium. there can't be.

as much as i'm upset, and heartbroken at the very thought that in july it's all over i know that it's for the best. it's closure on a chapter of my life that has always been in the back of my mind-- an intristic part of my childhood. i'll never fully let go of my childhood, and nor should i, but this is something difinitive.

i'm all over the place-- the tears that leaked throughout my typing of this made it difficult to focus. just know that this is "such a beautiful place to be with friends."

fucking gut wrenching.