Hope is a Four Letter Word

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In the great, vast, bitter end it is with crystal-clear vision that I now see it is vital that Gatsby were to die. Each great tragedy needs a scapegoat, a hero to die to set off the cataclysmic ending plot. Throughout the course of my life, I now see that in the events that have happened, the choices I have made have had a profound impact on my life and Gatsby’s. In a magnanimous effort to protect that glass world I have painstakingly crafted years later, I felt compelled to write an ending that would drive readers to believe the events played out exactly as told.
However, that is not my true ending.
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‘“I’m going to drain the pool today Mr. Gatsby. Leaves’ll start falling pretty soon then there’s always trouble with the pipes.”
“Don’t do it to-day, “ Gatsby answered.
He turned to me apologetically. “You know, old sport, I’ve never used that pool all summer?”
I looked at my watch and stood up.
“Twelve minutes to my train.”
I didn’t want to go into the city. I wasn’t worth a decent stroke of work, but it was more than that-I didn’t want to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another’, and another....
We never did make use of the pool that day. Together, Gatsby and I sat on his grand marble steps occasionally conversing over nothing and sometimes lapsing into a comfortable silence only penetrated by the sound of the lapping waves of the bay against his dock and the crisp rustle of leaves overhead that brushed our flushed cheeks.
In that still, quiet hour of the two of us, I remember gazing at Jay, who had his head tilted back towards the nearing, autumn sun with the flecks glinting off the gold streaks in his hair, in an awestricken moment of realization that I was unfortunat...

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...sed on. This whole idea is the foundation of the arts, a catharsis for those who do not possess exuberant amounts of wealth and stature.
In the grand scheme of things; however, I feel it necessary to point out that I myself have fallen prey to the arts and its band of societal outcasts, despite the fact that I am not trying to run away from anything. I am simply finding an outlet for the creative process in myself.
Aside from this there are only three things that I find certain in my life: one, that Jay Gatsby is worth more than all the Daisy Buchanan’s and all the Tom Buchanan’s and all the Jordan Baker’s of the world, two, that each person is the only one who can change, people can not change others, they can only change themselves, and lastly, that I am most regrettably in love with a man capable of immeasurable Hope, with a smile that stops time itself.

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