I think... I died a little inside.

I advise you not to read this, as I'm probably just going through one of those "stages" and I can't sort out my feelings at the moment... and there're possible spoilers for the seventh book of Harry Potter to those sensitive to the topic.

I can say to myself that I want to die and be finish/cheat the journey called life, and yet I'm still so very afraid of the thought of my life ending and forever closing my eyes.

The seventh Harry Potter book is by far the first story that has impacted me so strongly. After the book, I cry. Whether it was because I didn't want the adventure to end, or the fact that I knew all too well what was inevitable in the story, or simply the commanding air of death, I ended up silently crying in bed, holding the book as if it were a bible (...yeah). I think it was the death count. I refuse to reveal any names for the sake of the readers who have yet to begin reading or finish the book, but for the first time, the concept of death seemed so... dangerously frightening. My friends are probably going to call me a fag for saying this, but... maybe I've misunderstood what death is.

I remember my cousin posting a picture around her page somewhere with a side note saying she occasionally wakes up on 3am in the middle of the night on a Friday and she'll realize that "Omigod, we're all going to die." Which, I realize with honest fear, is very true.

I'll end my choppy and meaningless thoughts here, I hope that people have good opinions on the book. I'll take this last sentence to say thank you, J.K.Rowling, for having written an excellent series... I think I'll go back to lookng for nargles..