It’s no different than reading your favourite book. You get caught up in the storyline..in how you want the plot to end…you started believing in those characters. But that’s all it is..a story. It’s just a bunch of words strung together that are so nice to escape in for awhile..but they are just words. They aren’t actions, they aren’t real. They tug at your emotions, but at the end of the chapter..they are simply words. They aren’t the bitterness of a freezing winter’s day. They aren’t the warm embrace of a loved one. They aren’t an everlasting kiss you can still feel the next day. They aren’t the butterflies you get when someone stares into your soul. They aren’t an afternoon cuddling with tea and a big blanket. And they sure aren’t the heartache you feel when all you are left with are memories. There aren’t any memories because there wasn’t anything there. I know it may all feel like that…but in reality, they were just words. I think if we maybe just remembered that from time to time…we’d realize it was just like a really good book. It has a beginning, a middle, and a bittersweet end. And that is okay…because that’s what books are for. That’s what words are for. That’s how it’s supposed to be.