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I've been running on adrenaline all day. My hands shake with it, my heart staggers, I could run forever and never, ever stop.
All day. Well, since around 10 this morning. Which was when I bought The Book.
Now I'm on page 340. Paused once to use the bathroom.
Hunger gnaws at my stomach, and I don't care; it simply doesn't matter to me. My eyes are beginning to realize what it is to focuse on things other than words. I am starting to realize, again, that there are living beings in this world, that indeed this world exists and is pertinent to me in more than just a background sort of way.
I guess that's how it is, then. Other people fall in love; I just buy books.
But in the reading is remembering, the knowledge of how I survived and ended up a fairly balanced individual (except, of course, for this book thing). Undoubtably the world would have been quite unbearable, once upon a time, had I fully been a part of it. But I was not. Instead, I was seeing something that no one else could, being someone no one else could touch. I was beyond it all.
Do you know how long it's been since I was able to do that? Since I could simply sit down and read, not for an hour, not for two, but for five hours, six in a stretch?
And in that, there is forgetting.
Not that any of that matters to me now. All I want to do is read. Not just anything- if that were so, I would be able to turn this incredible energy to the reading I'm supposed to do for class. No, no, and again no. I want to read The Book, I want to read it now, I want to read undistracted by any and all concerns until I reach that final period on that final page.
Oh, and I don't want The Book to end. Ever.
All day. Well, since around 10 this morning. Which was when I bought The Book.
Now I'm on page 340. Paused once to use the bathroom.
Hunger gnaws at my stomach, and I don't care; it simply doesn't matter to me. My eyes are beginning to realize what it is to focuse on things other than words. I am starting to realize, again, that there are living beings in this world, that indeed this world exists and is pertinent to me in more than just a background sort of way.
I guess that's how it is, then. Other people fall in love; I just buy books.
But in the reading is remembering, the knowledge of how I survived and ended up a fairly balanced individual (except, of course, for this book thing). Undoubtably the world would have been quite unbearable, once upon a time, had I fully been a part of it. But I was not. Instead, I was seeing something that no one else could, being someone no one else could touch. I was beyond it all.
Do you know how long it's been since I was able to do that? Since I could simply sit down and read, not for an hour, not for two, but for five hours, six in a stretch?
And in that, there is forgetting.
Not that any of that matters to me now. All I want to do is read. Not just anything- if that were so, I would be able to turn this incredible energy to the reading I'm supposed to do for class. No, no, and again no. I want to read The Book, I want to read it now, I want to read undistracted by any and all concerns until I reach that final period on that final page.
Oh, and I don't want The Book to end. Ever.
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