I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else..but you
So I haven't left my room much since saturday. I have been wrapped up in "Breaking Dawn." It's perfect so far. Everything I could have wanted. So far.. I hope the end doesn't ruin it. I have been there before. The sting after the last page has turned. You close the spine left gasping for more, and left with the depression that follows once your brain kicks in there isn't anything. It is over. Done.
I know this is the last book. With each page I draw closer to the end. How will Stephanie do it? Cliffhanger? One of those books with much left to the imagination. Or, will she address it all, leave nothing. I am praying for the later. I don't know how my heart could handle it any other way. I have a bad habit of becoming emotionally attached to the books I read. But never this bad.
Anthony, read, sleep, read, work, read, anthony, read, sleep etc.. On the brightside maybe I will be more lively when the book is done.
"How was I deemed worthy of this perfect love?"
Lately I feel so disinterested in most things. Everything except him. I think that is the adjective I've been searching for, disinterested. I didn't really know how to describe it. Nothing seems to matter. I am distant, removed. I can stare in spare for long periods of time and not notice the time. Things that used to excite me seem passe. With the exception of a few.
I'm not really here, it's just the radio.
xx
I know this is the last book. With each page I draw closer to the end. How will Stephanie do it? Cliffhanger? One of those books with much left to the imagination. Or, will she address it all, leave nothing. I am praying for the later. I don't know how my heart could handle it any other way. I have a bad habit of becoming emotionally attached to the books I read. But never this bad.
Anthony, read, sleep, read, work, read, anthony, read, sleep etc.. On the brightside maybe I will be more lively when the book is done.
"How was I deemed worthy of this perfect love?"
Lately I feel so disinterested in most things. Everything except him. I think that is the adjective I've been searching for, disinterested. I didn't really know how to describe it. Nothing seems to matter. I am distant, removed. I can stare in spare for long periods of time and not notice the time. Things that used to excite me seem passe. With the exception of a few.
I'm not really here, it's just the radio.
xx