A Book I Can’t Read Again

I’m finally writing for you.. it’s been so long that i completely forgot what it felt like.. I can’t say that it feels the same..it doesn’t and it will never; not for you and not for anyone else.. it feels like i’m flipping through an old favorite novel.. every time i see it on my bookshelf, i think to myself about how wonderful it made me feel.. every time someone mentions it, i start praising it and tell them all about how i would love to read it over and over and how i would never get tired of it.. yet at the same time i know i will not read it again.. it’s not because the magic will wear off or because i know how it will end.. it’s because i know i will feel all the emotions, the twists and turns, the bends and curves, with the same intensity as i did when i first read it.. and i can’t do it.. i can’t afford to feel it all again.. i can’t invest that much again.. i’ll exhaust myself.. i can remember vividly how i felt when i finished it.. i didn’t want to end it but there was no other way.. it only seemed natural to do so because the book had nothing more to offer.. i had to finish it, hold it close to my chest, close my eyes, savor the moment, sigh and with a smile make space for it in the bookshelf which held all my favorites, place it there, step back and look at it with gratitude and contentment.. the book was worth it..

but it’s a book i can’t read again