Isn't it strange?
I've been watching The X-Files since Season Four. I've watched through a billion false Samanthas, a billion false deaths, a billion cigarettes smoked. I watched Emily die and cried. I watched Mulder and Scully's first kiss. I writhed in pain every all-too-frequent time Scully got whapped over the left temple; in anxiety whenever Mulder lost his gun at that critical moment. I watched through bile-eating monsters, through bizarre diseases. I cried when Scully had cancer. Through pregnancies and black oil and Celebrity Skin and body snatchers and exsanguination and auto-erotic asphyxiation, I watched. I was a true blue fan.
Tonight, the X-Files ended.
And the funny thing was, all I could think was that I'd never see that little golden cross around Dana Scully's neck again.
I'm so sad.