The Saga Of Book Ends.

   

   

I put down the book. Then snatch it back up, and flip open the last page. Again. Read the last two lines. Again. Crunch then around in my mouth, taste the syllables, and attempt to swallow them as I put down the book. Again. They stick in my throat. Again. If I reach out, I could almost feel the edges and curves of the vowels through the skin of my neck. I put up a fight of wills against every impulse in my body that screams to be reunited with the world that I just walked out of. This has been going on for the last half hour. You get the gist. Let’s move on.

Fast forward. Two hours later. Tears still cradle my cheeks. It is a trilogy. It spanned over thousands of pages. I give myself concession to deal with my post-partum grief.

People don’t get it. It frustrated me even as a child, when I would be heartbroken by a paperback, lying on my back, utterly spent; mum would walk in and ask me to snap out of it already. “How?” I would scream, internally if not out loud. Not that I didn’t try it aloud. Didn’t sit so well with the ones that had their feet planted firmly in reality with no space in their apparently sane box for the existence of the infinite worlds that my infant mind had been a refuge to. 

People gallop around in circles in search of happiness. I don’t get it. Not that I don’t want to bask in happiness, sunshine and unicorn farted rainbows. However tragedies always entranced me. Catharsis through literature was my choice of dialysis for my thoughts, ideas and existence in general. Most of the people couldn’t and still don’t get why I choose to break at the hands of words and authors and hardbounds, time and again. People search to be whole. I want to be broken. Shattered into a gazillion pieces. For I truly believe I’ll find myself not in the glossy surface of the whole, but in the unfathomable depths of the cracks that misery pries lose.

I sleep with the book I finished. You can judge me for that, but I’m not ready to let go of the world just yet; for a part of my soul that I’ve imprinted onto the pages, I'm not yet ready to let go of.