You all know that moment.
It's a sadness unto itself, felt far too seldom, and yet entirely delectable to the soul.
It's 12:30am, and you should have been asleep an hour ago - you have to get up for work! All is quiet in the street outside your window, the oaks waving the midnight breeze into your cracked window. The world is hushed, happily blanketed in moonlight, and where normally your reading makes your eyes heavy - this time, this sweet instance of time when you must be the only person in the world still awake, you are
abrim with your own secret world because OH HOLY GOLLY IT'S GETTING SOO GOOD!
and then,
oh dispiriting state, you come to the end of a chapter and make yourself peer at the red-numbered alarm clock over your husband's heavy breathing...12:45am, eek. you battle internally - one side fighting for the right to your childhood - to the flashlight under the blankets magic that only a good story can provide - and the other side, oh the other side. the adult knows the child needs rest - for the day forthcoming holds much indeed.
you know the moment.
the sadness, the disappointment, the realization that you simply must not continue your reading adventure with
Heathcliff & Catherine, Pip & Estella,
Perrin &
Ewgene...alas, they must be closed - their journey's paused for your beauty sleep. and it's just so deliciously sad...
you pray (
if you still do that childish sort of thing : ) ) that perhaps your dreams, maybe tonight - your dreams will be as exciting, magical, and soulful as your book.
you know the one, the book sitting on your nightstand crying out to you.
wait, wait, little bookling-
your words shall not go unconsumed
like scattered crumbs from my table- non!
you will be savored, every morsel... keep pining for me,
i will hear your plea and return to you yet again.
in case you missed the point, my book is oh so
summery and
salaciously good. turns out
Perrin can talk to wolves. Who knew
!?p.s. last entry was Ray Bradbury. Who knows the author of today's title?you know i adore thee, yes?
mme. bookling