I love books. The way they feel, the way they smell, the way they sound as you crack open their binding for the first time. Ahhh, books.
There's something so special about immersing yourself in a book. An adventure, really, filled with new friends to learn, new places to explore, new experiences to relish. A great escape. Just you, and the wonderful pages that lie before you, filled with hope, with disappointment, with love, with heartbreak, with courage, and with cowardice. Life, all wrapped up in a few hundred pages.
I invest myself completely in the characters. I feel, quite deeply, everything they are going through. It's magical, really, being able to just fully delve into everyone and everything the writer chooses to explore.
However, it's such a bittersweet experience to finish that last page of a book. More bitter then sweet, I might add. Excitement and pleasure knowing that I've reached my goal. I know where the characters, my new friends, will end up, and how. Satisfying on some level. But more then that, I feel sadness. Sadness that the people, the places, and the experiences that I fully threw myself into have now come to a complete and absolute end!
I am in mourning ...
