Dear Diary, Today I saw Gatsby again for the first time in years. He looked as handsome as ever, but he seemed different than I remembered. When we first met he was confident, almost indifferent to the world. But today, I don’t know...he seemed earnest and anxious. Why did he insist that we leave Nick’s? We had only caught up for a few short moments before he hurried us over to his mansion. And I do mean mansion. As I watched him pointing out rooms as we passed them and thought of the immense amount of effort it must’ve taken him to create that extravagant house, I instantly became quiet. He of course began to prod me, asking me what I thought of this and that. All I could say was, “It’s nice. It’s very nice,” but inside I was wishing I had never stepped through the doors. The gaudiness wasn’t him. The expensive taste wasn’t his either.
We had once shared a spark, a spark thats flame seemed immediately extinguished by those very walls. After seeing him again, all I needed was that conversation, that simple interaction. Tom already smothered me, traded his love for things. Gatsby was just showing me more of what I did not want or need. When I discovered he had returned, I yearned for a simple life. A life I remembered wanting many years ago when I was with him. Now the dream of that life is gone, as is the Gatsby I used to know. Daisy