Whenever a show I love ends it’s a reminder of how insane I am, sobbing away for people who don’t exist. I know they’re not real, and yet here I am again, mourning the loss of fictional characters I have come to love.
It pained me to watch the season finale of Fringe, knowing at every moment that this was our last time together, the way Walter knew he would never see Peter or Olivia or Etta again.
I enjoyed having to look up the white tulip, because I’d totally forgotten the significance of the white tulip. But that’s it. No more things to look up and figure out. No more new adventures, no new tears, no new laughs. It’s over. Done. I can watch reruns the way I look at old photographs or home movies; artifacts with lovely memories that are all in the past. There will never be a new picture or new episode again.
Thank you creators, producers, writers, directors, actors, and everyone else who made Fringe what it was. Thank you especially, Walter/John Noble. I didn’t even like your character at first! Walter felt too goofy, too cartoon-y for me in the beginning. But it the end, you were the one who broke my heart the most, you LSD/licorice/music-loving … actually you loved a lot of things, didn’t you? But most of all you loved Peter. You portrayed love at its most genuine, perfect and imperfect, selfish and selfless. And this was echoed so beautifully by every character in the show, by Peter for Walter, between Peter and Olivia, I could go on and on, because every character at one point or another had to embody love. Damnit. Sobbing again. Thank you for making me feel crazy, tv people. No really, thank you.
Waiting for choir practice to begin. We’re working on Bach’s Mass in B Minor. A piece of music I love. I love a lot of things too, it turns out. I guess we all do.