... and once again, I find myself blogging about books, or rather, their endings. I can not explain just how anxious I become when I reach the last 100- pages of a book. I start to get depressed, ill-tempered and I lose all sense of humour. I just become this angry person, and all that because when I reach the end of a book, I am overcome with dread. I want to finish the story, I want to know what happens. I want to help the characters escape/survive/celebrate/mourne etc, but I also do not want to lose their company. I guess it is just stilly, but every time I read a book, I feel as though the characters are real, they live, breathe, move, eat, sleep, and talk in my mind. I can see them clearly in my mind's eye, and I get attached to them. There really is no other word to decribe this feeling but attachement. They become friends by the time I finish reading the book, and saying goodbye to them, well, it just brings up bad memories. I hate saying goodbye to people I care about. It is probably one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, and I am not even considered an emotional person! Everyone thinks of me as toughskinned and aloof, and yet, the though of saying goodbye sometimes brings me to tears- when I am all alone, of course!
And so, back to my point, another book ends, another story is closed. It is a comfortable thought knowing that you can revisit whenever you want, yet also disturbing because you know the characters are caught in this vicious cycle that is stuck on repeat.
In case you are wondering, I just finished reading The Cloudmages Trilogy by S.L Farrell.
Out.
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