It all started many years ago, in my sophomore English class when my teacher announced we’d be reading The Great Gatsby. I recall looking at the cover and thinking, What could this possibly be about? The moment I began reading Nick’s background I was in a trance. From time to time I read the book again. No, correction, I swallow it up. It makes me so amazingly drunk with reminiscing about life before I felt heartache and how I have changed. Before I could relate to Gatsby. Now I can. Not with the extravagant lifestyle. Not with chasing the girl. Not ending in his demise. Not with all the lies. With the mystery surrounding his life. With his silent pain. And his never ending hope. I think of the hope. Maybe Gatsby was a fool. Well that makes two of us. Fools in love.