the next paper flip

i just finished a book. it was a fabulous read but this is not a critique (though i do recommend it your your imagination). i don't think i could ever be a reviewer or critic, i would hate to have to analyze something i enjoyed or found beautiful.

after an extremely hot day i tucked myself into the subtle waves of a cool bath scented with blackberries. there i finished a novel i'd been enjoying for a while. living the lives of fictional characters that took me away from the day to day i live. it's amazing how a good book can blur the crowd on a subway into one mass of foggy sound, as if they were ghosts surrounding you as you scroll across perfectly chosen words on a page.

i love the feel of a book in my hands, the fine touch between my fingers as i quickly flip pages to find out what's happening around the paper corner.

now i wait. i can choose my next adventure but must wait until enough time passes until i have mourned past characters. i can't start into a new book immediately, i always have to give it a couple of days between books. this only goes for books i loved of course. if i feel nothing for the characters then it's no problem diving head first into the next bit of writing. If i feel a connection/love/admiration/etc. then i have to let them move on into their reserved section of my mind & memory before replacing them.