This is me. All me. I cannot describe myself better than this reader has described her reaction to a book:
"I just spent the last 40, maybe 50 minutes, crying over a book. I haven’t even finished this book. I started crying about halfway, and it just kept getting more and more emotional and. I don’t mean just, tearing up and feeling sentimental.
I mean snot running down my face and dripping onto my shirt, body-shaking sobs, wails, whines, panicked strangled pleas, headaches, stinging eyes, raw cheeks and a puffy face because even though it is physically hurting me to keep reading, I need to be able to try and see the pages.
I had to, with shaking hands, force myself to put it down, not because I need to go to bed (though I do, badly), but because I do not have the strength now to keep reading. I need to calm down. I don’t want to, but I need to come back to a reality that I seriously do. not. want. to.
And that’s why I fucking love books.
I can’t trust people who don’t react to books this way.
I can’t love someone who doesn’t react to books like this."
Amen! A-holyshitthisissotrue-men! Find the original post here.