LOST: A deathbed conversation

Lost, your breathing is getting shallow, you won’t last the night. In your current state, I realize it seems selfish to trouble you with my problems, but this has been tearing me up inside for too long and I have to get it out.

I don’t love you anymore. Yes, I visit every Tuesday, tend to your needs, pretend to care about your flash-sideways ramblings, but it’s only because I know you’ll be gone soon. As long as I’m being honest, I really considered breaking up with you around season three, but then you got diagnosed with terminal scheduling, so I figured if I’ve come this far, I can see you through to the end.

Some of my friends are still holding out for a death bed conversion. That you will make amends and give us the satisfying ending everyone wants, but you and I know that won’t happen. Because I know the real you. The you that lacks substance. The you that has no believable character motivations. The you that doesn’t have a satisfying story, so you hide behind always asking more questions because if you ever gave an answer, people would see how empty you are.

It’s funny, because your mysteries were what originally attracted me to you, but I grew up and you didn’t. So I’ll be by your side tonight, watching the TV as your heart beat slowly stops, and I will mourn your passing because we did have some good times, but mostly I’ll be disappointed that I put six years of work into a meaningless fling.

I guess this is what happens when you try to start a relationship with a show you met on network television.

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LOST: A deathbed conversation

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