Oh how it feels to finish a novel, a story so wonderfully crafted that you feel as though a piece of your soul was taken when at last you shut the book, not for the last time, but for the last first time. What may have been mere hours in our mortal world was days, months, years, lifetimes, in the lives of those who stories, though fictional, captivated your soul. To finish a book, a series, is to give up the little bit of yourself that you had vested in it. There is no way to ever regain it fully, but each time you pick up that book and allow yourself to be drenched in its words and images, you can borrow that piece, and to have it back for only a short while, is better to be without it forever. The lives you lived through those pages may feel as though they have been ripped away from you, but fear not, for deep down inside that small hole that was once filled with nothingness is now a constant reminder that without you, their stories would have no true meaning, they would never be cherished and loved. To be a reader is a gift, to love books is a privilege, to understand books and to wish they were all you truly needed, is an honor. One I proudly claim.
Posted on: Wed, 05 Jun 2013 22:33:47 +0000
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