Undesirable Compilations

So you're rummaging through your old books and come across a novel by one of your favorite authors. You realize you're sure you have read the book in the past at some point, and some of the story seems familiar, but cannot seem to recall the how the story ends. With enticing curiousity you decide to read the book again, knowing you enjoy the author thoroughly. What ensues is an engrossing journey through a novel you have some recollection of, but still cannot fathom the climax. However, as the last chapter unfolds, you realize traumatically that you detested the ending one hundred percent. The complete narrative kept you enthralled throughout the whole book, but the denouement was utterly horrendous. With total chagrin you discern that life would have been much better had you not even picked up the book again in the first place. You should have been quite content maintaining a conviction of acceptance that the author would not leave you feeling such dissatisfaction. Sadder yet, you now remember the feeling of unfulfillment from the first delivery. With certain contempt, you donate the book to the local library hoping someone may genuinely appreciate your discard, and also desiring the memory of such dissapointment may be struck from your subconscious. You however will never read another of this author's work within that genre in fear of further vain expectations. In fact, it may be some time before you read any of his work again. So painstakingly disheartening considering such an amazing author.

It may have been an odd analogy, but have you ever felt this way about a relationship? One which ended slightly vexed some time ago, yet you felt compelled to try it once again, only to leave you twice as dejected, but unable to let go of the basis of friendship which held you together to begin with?

I, for one, could never give up on my favorite author, who's writing captivates me. However, I will never read another story delving into the romance style again.