i once was Lost . . .

 . . . you know the rest.

ALERT: Minor spoilers including vague description of the last scene of the series in this post.

I will try to write this without crying too much.  I was finally able to view The End of Lost today, and it was extraordinary.  Not perfect, but how could it be?  Not all of our questions were answered.  I still do not know why "daynjah surrounds this baybee" (he seemed about as dangerous as any baby, really).  But I don't really care, so this means - for me - that The End was quite a success.

I wish that I could share some of my thoughts on Lost in a poetic manner.  I left official commentary (as I never commentate officially on any subject matter anyhow) to the professionals, because to be honest, Lost is an incredibly intelligent show.  And whilst I consider myself a moderately intelligent person, I would rather just leave the show as is and allow every viewer to value his or her own experience for what it is.  Also, it's difficult remembering all of those pesky details sometimes.  I encourage everyone to give the series a shot, but only if done so properly and from the beginning.  No cheating.  No long breaks between episodes.  Pay a respectful amount of attention to the plot, let yourself sink into some Island magic, and you will not regret it.

If you want a terribly well-written and detailed synopsis of any episode of Lost, I highly recommend Doc Jensen's column on the Entertainment Weekly website.  I would like to specifically recommend reading Part One of his recap on the series finale.  His thoughts are pretty much on-par with my own.  Whilst I feared the various cop out endings which played out in my mind galore over the past few weeks, and whilst up until today I seriously doubted a quality ending, I am so happy with the way the writers chose to end Lost.  I wish that it could have been extended for one more season to give some things more thought and attention, but as it is I am satisfied.

We ended the show the way we began, with Jack in the jungle.  The simplicity of him laying down to die and Vincent calmly joining him in the brush, the closing of his eyes . . . it was a poem.  Pure and simple.  This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang but a whimper.

Indeed.  Where are my tissues?