As a games enthusiast, is known that a certain sentiment resonates within ourselves when we encounter a game that transcends simple entertainment. Like any affection towards a peculiar object, it is often called attachment. In our minds, we create an attachment through our immersion of a particular game. For a brief period of time, we become enthralled each time we switch on the machine and play the game and as we witness the beautifully crafted story, we become enthralled with poignant characters that captivate our attention. As we progress through the game, intuitive game play maintains our focus for a considerable amount of time, however, like all heroic tales, the game possesses an end and our attachment must be broken off.

When confronted by the conclusion, we question ourselves, "Why does it have to end?"

More often than naught, we delay the inevitable by slowly progressing through the end, but as a consequence, it becomes increasingly ineffective as we arrive at the conclusion, however, other times we simply move towards the end, but that does not make the situation any easier to handle.

Why do we reach the conclusion? This game has brought about countless memories for a considerable amount of time and progressing through the end, without a second thought, would be sacrilegious considering the circumstances.

Parting away from that attachment is never a straightforward task to accomplish because that emotion infuses us with euphoria, while providing an eagerness to experience that attachment more.

But alas, we can not suspend the overreaching hands of father time. We must realize that the memories given by that attachment will never become erased and these precious moments are the residue of clinging on to a fantastic game, but we must grit our teeth, and take the plunge to reach the conclusion.

When we reach the end, we wonder where the next attachment will take place. Is building another attachment possible? The resolution may never be determined because finding another game to cling to will not be possible, but on the other hand, the next attachment may be created in a blink of an eye.

Finishing a game we are attached to is akin to saying farewell to a dear friend. I had never realized this metaphor to be true, until I experienced attachment towards Final Fantasy 7. While inching closer towards the end, I began to feel sadness knowing that this game must be played towards its conclusion, because I was enthralled with the story, because fascinated by the characters, and because I had a fantastic time playing through the game. When I started to take notice the signs pointing towards the final point of my journey, I was sullen by how much I never wanted this adventure to come to a close.

I have always maintained that ride should have gone on until eternity, but reminiscing about my foolishness only added to my despondency because I had attempted to abstain from finishing the game, and knowing that only made matters worse.

Stout critics would probably reprimand me for my actions, and they would question, "How can you be such a sap for this game?" In reply, I would offer nothing tangible to them, but an excuse: I was attached to that game just as the music I love or the family heirloom that was inherited to me and despite Final Fantasy 7 being a game, what formed was an undeniable euphoria from playing it, and that ought not be diminished because it was simply a game.

In the end, I did not abstain from playing Final Fantasy 7 to its entirety, on the contrary, I finished the game one week after I had reached the final dungeon. The game's ending did not offer justice to the entire journey, but that may be because I was spoiled by Final Fantasy 6's fantastic end sequences. Despite that minor imperfection, I do not allow that to somehow diminish the adventure I had decided to undertake, because, for a brief period of time, I was on cloud nine watching these characters.

Attachment may come in different forms: it is as a television show we love, it is that compelling book that we refuse to lay down, it is also the game we play. As the old cliché goes, "All great things must come to an end." When we reach the end of a great game, we must say farewell to a dear friend.

• Flesch-Kincaid Reading Ease - 51.60
• Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level - 12.60
• Gunning-Fog Score - 16.20