book

It has been a long time.

I have not felt you in my hands, or caught your warm scent for years - at least, that's how it seems to me. I have not traveled through time or lived in a different century, have not met new people either. My heart is filled with such desire that I could feel the pain coursing through my veins with every beat. I long to feel you in my hands. I long to have my eyes travel along your spine and open you with much enthusiasm. I am trying my very best to live without a glimpse of you, but somehow, life doesn't feel right. Days are long and nights are exceptionally dull without you. I am trying to fill this void and writing seems to be the most logical outlet, yet, I only feel even more detached from you and every word is a painful reminder of your absence. Such sorrow is unbearable.

I really would not mind if you happen to fall from the sky, old and dog-eared, tattered pages and broken spine. I would not mind if you're new and well bound, pages white and reeking with newness either. I really don't care! All I want is to immerse myself in an intellectually stimulating you.

I haven't read a good one in ages.