Oh god. Oh. God.
Page 447 and I had to stop reading. I could not bare to press on anymore.
The person who I am begins crying. The person who I've always been comforts me.
I say 'why is love so cruel?' and he laughs, the way he always does, and he says 'that's because darlin, that's just how things go.'
I'm very conflicted. Who I am is a distant memory compared to who I've always been. As far back as my memories reach the person I am now has been a part of me, ever growing in strength, flourishing and growing, consuming and taking over the person I am.
Who I am is weak, and is most often rather than not, poured out onto the pages of this most depressing chronicle.
Who I've always been is much stronger. He smiles, would never balk but rather laugh at danger. He is laid back and kind. And he says to me, what happens will happen, no stock in frettin.
And there's the subtle, strange, irrelevant differences. I like Tripp pants. He prefers Wranglers.
We've bother been reading this book, burned, since I first plucked it off the shelf today. He and I have talked about it, made internal dialog. Discussed it. I don't want to read anymore, because I'm scared the character will die. I'm petrified of that.
Because that person reminds me so much of the person I've always been. If he dies, what hope is there for me?
Is it weird a book has effected me so profoundly?