Books should be called something like that. The word itself doesn’t sound nearly as exciting as the worlds they have inside them.
It’s not hard to guess what made me think of this topic. I just finished one… A trilogy, to be exact.
How brilliant it is, when the book you start reading draws you in, making you lose your sense of time, hunger, everything otherwise stated as important.
At one point, I realize and look up from the book to smile. Like a sign to myself or the little someone (who I like to think everyone else has in their thoughts as well) in my head, to be sure she knows I’m aware too. I fell for the taste of this champagne.
I keep on reading, drinking the words, thirstier than I even thought I was, for more and more. The truth is, it’s past 2 am already, I can’t see properly anymore but I just have to, have to read one more sentence. Paragraph. Page. Then start again, and I’m suddenly done with this chapter. All too soon.
Finishing the first book and knowing there are two more is a privilege, because I only found about the existence of the trilogy after all three were already out. It’s a feeling of comfort. The end is a perfect cliffhanger, but I can open the second book and go on with the story right away. And that’s what I do. I’m becoming alcoholic if the author wants me to be. It’s all too easy, when the drink tastes this pleasing.
Time is so short when I spend it doing something I love. Days were not designed for me to read. I couldn’t finish the second bottle in one day. Not that I could sleep, since thoughts about the plot adding slowly up kept me awake, making my so-very-wrong theories. Then, the next day I’m so eager to get to the third and cautiously final book, though once again, I can’t keep up with myself. Suddenly, there was a puff (believe me, I could almost hear the sound when I looked at the clock), it was almost 3 am. Though I have only reached till the half of the final story, I went to bed.
Here I am now, knowing the taste of this particular trilogy as well. It made me very drunk for days.
Just after reading the last sentence, I had to go back a few lines to make sure this was the end. For a few seconds, I unconsciously made myself enjoy the ecstasy of it all. It tasted perfect. I knew I fell in love with another one.
My system scheduled the daily reality check just after these intoxicating feelings and it felt like someone shook my head for me. Every drop of the liquid was removed from my thoughts in a blink of an eye.
It’s over. The plot, it’s not finished. IT COULD BE CONTINUED.
But it won’t be; only in my thoughts.
This is the part, when you take out the next drink, wanting to taste the same sweetness, falling again. Obeying the need, I got out the next series. After the first sentences, the first sips, I smile again, for the person inside. I can’t do it. I can’t mix the drinks. They taste their best without the other. Although the little someone in my head already knows this, of course.