there's a sad, remorsefully aching feeling that makes its way into my heart that feels something like crushing a snail underfoot whenever i finish a book. having spent hours growing a friendship with the endearing characters and spiting the antagonists as best as i can, i feel abandoned when the connection between us is severed by the hard back cover - offering no chance for them to cross over into reality and i don't know.. have tea with me.
i'm just going to spend a few hours grieving and then maybe reread the book over again.
I suppose I do have a suitor, but I'm not really used to him yet. He's terribly charming and he plies me with delicious meals, but I sometimes think I prefer suitors in books rather than right in front of me. How awful, backward, cowardly, and mentally warped that will be if it turns out to be true.
-The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
maybe this is all in the name of character development since i was just writing about dealing with aloneness. beh to heck with that. i'm gonna proceed with my ceremonial moping. and to heck with the author for bequeathing so stingily before she passed away while writing her debut novel.