Where do we go from here?

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Okay, book. Have a seat.
Things have been really good between us lately, and I appreciate that you've been trying. But I found out something about you a few days ago, and I need to clear the air.
Your ending is rough. It was shocking, actually. I'm partially to blame; I've worked the first half a million times, and the second half has only gotten two quick passes. Of course you feel neglected. But that's no excuse.
Have I grown as a writer and you haven't kept up? Are we in different places? Have I done this to you? Your scenes are shallow, you're pathetic fallacied, and you don't even answer my questions, questions I have been raising since page one. How about some resolution? Is that so hard for you?
Fine. I'm angry. I tried to hide it, tried to be Pollyanna. I was looking for an easy fix, a silver lining, but I've given up. I will have to rewrite EVERY sentence. Didn't I just write these sentences?
You're hurting me. You're giving me little choice but to eat another bowl of ice cream and curse your complicated "this isn't easy for me, either" plot.
But I'm not ready to give up on us.
I'm not going to spend this evening reading "Harry Potter" or "The Chronicles of Narnia" or any of my other comfort books. I won't fool myself into thinking we're going somewhere by sketching some cover art ideas or plotting a sequel. I'm not sure we can make it, honestly.
But I'm done pouting, done whining to my husband and sister and anyone else who will listen. I'm ready to try.
-Kelly