and when you finish a novel, you might have a feeling of discomfort in your gut. As if you've said goodbye to a close friend for a final time. Knowing that the journey that was embarked upon has now come to a passing. And when you're in this moment you can only think of the pain you'll feel from losing the relationship made with the story.
But visit a book store. Where the isles are lined with shelves towering overhead and title after title are displayed. Where oak chairs with frayed carpet allow people to enjoy another reality.
This one, I can tell that she is different. And I haven't felt this way in a long time, so hopefully it doesn't come back to haunt me.
Also, what the fuck? Why am I blogging like a 3rd grade girl writing in a fucking diary?
You're blogging BECAUSE 3rd grade girls write ducking diaries, man--not LIKE. Somebody's got to stem the tide, & if not you, then who? Speaking of which, thanks for the shout out to the right. Means a lot to me--& not much does these days.
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