Why I left New York when Gatsby died

                  After Gatsby died everything in New York became a reminder of everything that he was. His giant house was the only view from my windows and I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to leave because if I stayed I feared I would go insane. People constantly talked about him and trashed his name when truly they didn’t even know him. The hit and run and the affair were all pinned on him. They slandered his name and made him out to be a crook. I was the only one who knew the truth and it made me so mad. Every weekend remained silent with no parties going on next door. To any normal person this would be a dream come true if their crazy neighbor finally stopped making noise. But to me it broke my heart. All the hope and happiness in the air seemed to vanish with Gatsby’s death. It killed me every time I looked at the green light across the pond. To Gatsby it symbolized true hope and love but to me it only symbolized loneliness and betrayal. I didn’t exactly have anywhere to go even if I left the city, so decided to move back to my home town. At least there I wouldn’t be constantly reminded about the heartbreak I experienced over the summer. Some things are just to hard to bare and staying in New York was one of them.