A stack of books from the warehouse sale that I went to almost four months ago, still awaits me.
I have almost forgotten how it is like, to be able to read with renewed vigour. I am on a roll – one that will end pretty soon actually, unless I get my hands on the final book of the trilogy.
I love it when I cannot be persuaded to put down the book, because I cannot stand not knowing what awaits me in the next few pages. I admit that I sometimes have to steal a peep at the final pages just to see if the protagonist lives to the end.
I love it when I can almost feel it. The throbbing headaches that come as a Skill after-effect. The pleasant electricity of magic burning at your fingertips. The swift, lightning-like pain of a sword going through your back. The cold yet assuring touch of a Colt .45 in your hand.
I love it when I fall for the main character(s). Not many can leave a long and lasting impression on me save but a few. My unabashed declaration of affection is reserved only for those who thrive within the yellowing pages of a book. They are just so right, so true, it is difficult to imagine someone in real life emulating them. Maybe that is why they continue to exist only in fantasies.
But our lives do not read like a book’s; where you can tell how your future unfolds, fast forward as you like to choose only the happy and juicy parts to live, or unerringly pick the one you know will well and truly be right for you.
Why, who do you think I can be? Red Riding Hood??
Nearly a month now, and the pain still lingers. I miss you so, so much.
On air now: You Can Have It All, Kaiser Chiefs