(a finished book)
Like any relationship you build, the beginning is at ease, the middle resumes, and the end ends. Then the fullness of an inexplicable hollowing partakes in your night or your afternoon or (rarely, as far as I'm concerned) your morning. You sit motionless or fondle for a single, solid thought in your head. But now, I feel an ache in my head, and it's so quiet and still at this hour that I'm making up things to hear in hopes not to disturb anything.
"Just go to bed, now. Quickly. Quickly and slowly."
I get startled when a book knows of my whereabouts.
