It is always heartbreaking when you have to part with a book. Flipping the last pages and knowing it's the end.
You see, reading a book is a little like being infatuated with someone. You wanna hold them close. Always. Reading them. You smile alone at the thoughts triggered by the words that resonates in your head as you scan the pages. Hiding your smile, you walk. Giddy and happy, still from the mere thought of what image just manifests itself in your little brain.
You hang onto it's every word and truth be told, it all seem nothing less than beautiful. You drown out the world around you because you're so focused on this one thing, this one set of arrangement of words and you don't mind whatever it is that's currently happening in your life because for a second. For a brief moment, the book makes you forget everything else. Nothing else matters beside the feelings that you experience with the book.
You don't want to part with it. You want it to stay with you forever though reality is, every single thing must come to an end.
And what a tragedy it is when the end finally approaches.
First off, you are only lightly aware that the story is ending. And when the time comes. When you finally read the last sentence, the last word, the last letter off the page.
Empty.
You feel a void quickly snatching away the fullness that you felt with a book in hand. Always, you are never quite ready to start a new one because you're still bitter about how the last one ended. You felt betrayed by the fact that it ended so abruptly and how it didn't even have the soft landing you hoped for.
All of it. Everything. Just ripped away from you with a flip of a page.
And there you lay, staring at the ceiling. Not entirely sure what just happened.
Not sad, not angry, not really happy neither.
Just...stunned.
Now that, my friend,
is how you have a love affair with a little creature called a book.
