The boy who lived.

I just watched the trailer for the final Harry Potter movies. Parts one and two of book seven, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, are, according to the trailer, the "motion picture event of a generation." I could not agree more with this statement.

I know that neither Fletcher or Ben have read and cared about Harry Potter. And since you're really the only two who read this, much of this will be lost on you. But Emma! Emma my dear who loves Harry Potter as much as I do...can you even stand it? Do you even want it to happen? I'm so torn between wanting to see it come to life on screen, and terrified that I won't know what to do with myself once it's over.

It's like, for the last ten years, either a new book or movie has been on its way to my hands. And thirteen months from now, the last of the movies will have been released. My childhood will officially have to come to an end. I'm not ready at all. I have been rereading the series this summer, and loving every minute of it. I stay up much too late and waste much time following what can only be described as the most riveting literary journey I've ever been a part of.

I read a lot. Like a lot a lot. And yet, though I've read countless "classics" and works by brilliant, brilliant authors, I can't help but recall the adventures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione as those that have affected my life most deeply.

I am literally in tears at this point and will have to write of this subject further at a later date. I love you, Harry Potter.