Pages

I am notorious for re-reading chapters in my favorite books... checking to see if I could've missed a juicy morsel or two. If I'm able to retrieve a few crumbs, I find myself turning back "just a few more pages" to continue the search. As a result, it usually takes me a lot longer than most to move on to other well penned dilemmas, or rather, it often renders it near impossible to put one book down and move onto another.  So out of respect for the multitude of entertainment, at almost all times, there are a half-dozen uncompleted adventures scattered haphazardly across my coffee table, night stands, car floor and occasionally even found on the kitchen counter, with coffee cup tattooed pages. There are books with re-read chapters, highlighted and annotated until the pages bleed with color. Then there are books with altogether un-read chapters that are beckoning me to consume them. I've grown fond of their company and the secrets that we share. They've laughed with me, cried for me, and then challenged me to move on.  But it's difficult for me to completely move on even after I've fallen in love with the ending.  There's a grieving process that actually happens once I accept that I've completed a book and burying it on a shelf to collect dust is often so trying that I simply succumb to the torment and leave it open and breathing so that I won't forget.