Finishing Words

February 18, 2017 by Rieshy
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Being a reader means mourning, often.  Hearing a voice that you've grown to know, that's rolled about in your head for pages and pages of years but is now finished.  Gone.

And you wake.  And look about, and real life seems a bit pale.   Your voice, in your own head, retains a slight accent or even the cadence of the book's voice.   You feel vague and restless.  Hungover.

Eat chocolate.  Do jujitsu.
Walk in sunshine.

When there's no chocolate, no jujitsu and no sunshine?

That's when being a reader is a really regretful thing.  You can no more solve the problem by picking up another book than you can adopt a new puppy to take place of a beloved aged dog that has finally died.

Haphazardly flipping back to a few favorite passages; walking about crankily and daydreaming of being a better person while fussing about muddy footprints in the den, because it's all about finishing the words.

Letting them roll hither and thither to finally settle.  Deciding if the voice was right or smart or even likable.

Finishing the words so that you can find your own voice again.



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