where she went

When you read a lot, there’s bound to be a moment of “what next?” The lives of the characters continue outside the pages, the shelves grow lighter and you run out of books to read. Especially, if you’re a picky reader like me.

About a week ago, I was elected as a member of a board of directors to a not-so-small-but-not-quite-large organisation. “What have I gotten myself into?” I muttered to myself, as the results were announced. In fact, I only agreed to be a candidate because I thought I’m not popular enough to be voted in. The joke ended up being on me.┬áMy mother had only one comment on that: “Well, you’ve never liked new things.”

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if i stay

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With some books, you run out of words to say before you even open your mouth. You want to hold them, hug them and keep all of the story to yourself. But when you do start talking, you can’t stop. The words flow out and everything is different. You are different.

I didn’t want to read this book at first. It seemed cold and fragile, and my icy fingers needed some warm pages to turn. “If only I was a few years younger when this book came out, I would have loved it.” I said. After all, with some books, your soul requires a certain kind of emptiness to be filled. And the book fits.

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