I gripped the pages tighter and leaned forward, hunched over my book.

My eyes began to fill with tears and the words became blurry. I blinked quickly, trying to clear my line of sight. Wet drops left dark stains on the pages, highlighting words as they fell.

I read faster and slower at the same time, moving quickly to the next word, but savoring each one. I didn’t want it to end, but also couldn’t wait to get there. I needed to read every last word, but I was afraid for there to be no more.

I was a part of the book. A part of the story. I wouldn’t have it to rely on, once it was all over.

I knew each of the characters. I had formed a relationship with each and every one. I knew their secrets, fears and habits.

I knew what made them smile and what made them cry.

I knew what they looked like and how they felt.

I had laughed, cried, danced and dined with them.

I had lived with them. I had died with some.

I knew the book itself and the feel of every crease in the old cover; the weight of it in my hands. I knew the smell that would brush my nose as I turned the pages.

I was a part of the book that was ending.

Finally, I read the last words, closed the book and rested my hands on top.

I let my vision start to blur again. I looked up at him, sitting in the seat next to me. He could feel my gaze and he returned it. Panic crossed his face when he saw my flooded eyes. He dropped the paper he was reading to move his arms around me.

“What’s wrong?”

“I finished my book.” I smiled at him through the tears.

I didn’t blink them away this time and they started to fall, one at a time down my cheeks. I laughed a sad laugh and sighed, running my hands over my face.

“I finished my book.”

~ 

Relephant read:

Date a Man Who Writes.

Author: Amanda Reed

Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Photo: courtesy of the author