In the great, wide, bitter end it is with crystal clear vision that I now see that it is vital that Gatsby should die. Every great tragedy needs a scapegoat, a hero who dies to trigger the catastrophic final plot. Over the course of my life, I now see that, in the events that transpired, the choices I made had a profound impact on my life and Gatsby's. In a magnanimous effort to protect the glass world I painstakingly created years later, I felt compelled to write an ending that would push readers to believe that events unfolded exactly as told. However, this is not my true ending.---- ------------------------------------ '“I'm going to drain the pool today, Mr. Gatsby. The leaves will start falling very soon, then there will always be problems with the pipes.” “Don't do it today,” Gatsby replied. He turned to me apologetically. “Do you know, old man, I never used that pool all summer?” I looked at the clock and stood up. "Twelve minutes to my train." I didn't want to go to town. I wasn't worth a decent job, but it was more than that: I didn't want to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another, and another... We never used the pool that day. Together, Gatsby and I sat on its great marble steps, occasionally conversing about nothing and sometimes falling into a comfortable silence penetrated only by the sound of the bay's waves lapping against its dock and the crisp rustle of leaves above us that touched our red cheeks. In that quiet, still hour between the two of us, I remember looking at Jay, who had his head tilted back toward the approaching autumn sun with flecks glittering on the golden streaks in his hair, in a stunned moment of realization that I was unlucky... half of the paper... put up. The 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 art and its gang of social outcasts, despite the fact that I am not trying to escape from anything. I'm simply finding an outlet for the creative process in myself. Other than that there are only three things I am certain about in my life: one, that Jay Gatsby is worth more than all the Daisy Buchanans and all the Tom Buchanans and all the other Jordan Bakers in the world, two, that each person is the only one that it can change, people cannot change others, they can only change themselves and, finally, that unfortunately I am in love with a man capable of immeasurable hope, with a smile that stops time itself.