what is wrong with this world? why can’t books go on and on and on and on? why do they end?! they are all gone gone gone at some point or another and then you talk about them and it’s like a release, you know like you get a book-gasm, and then you’re all flushed and content but give it a minute and then that also leaks out similar to that form a broken vessel and you’re just so empty and you realize they’re so many other people out there just starting this book and you wanna warn them and shit but then it would be such a fucking waste because the book is something so glorious, the story is one that every human being from the time of Genghis Khan should have read and should keep on reading and nothing wonderful should ever have to exist in vain and you feel so hopeless as though you made such brilliant friends- friends you won’t ever, ever forget but never meet them again either. and it’s not just that; it’s that you just experienced another wonder of the world and now it’s a world with one less wonder and it’s so, so, so sad that you’ve just lost it and there will be others, just as magnificent if not more but they won’t be the same because this was a collection of thoughts and words and dreams from a particular group of atoms fixed in some definite pattern that won’t ever be repeated again in this universe and though we are always, we are also momentary and it JUST WON’T BE THE SAME EVER and it feels like you just had this extra time during your exams that you could have employed in bettering your answers and you did but you should have done more, paid more attention and then maybe your result would have been better and your book would have lasted longer and i don’t know, maybe it’s just me but i feel so amazingly sad after all that and it makes me also shed tears that somewhere, someone, manywheres, manyones will have to go through the same and maybe i could prevent this but that would be just so terrible and heinous of me because it’s not always you get hurt so beautifully and that’s an enigma in and of itself. I just wish i could stretch it out like a bubblegum but even then there would be a breaking point and is it necessary for everything to have one? I wish our lives were straight lines that go on and on and have no end in sight but we are physical and we don’t and we never will and we really don’t want that because we are chaos and mess and snafu and books too, and the only beauty there is, is in disorder and chaos and how could the things that make life worth it, music and books and art and food and people(yes people too; never thought i would admit to that) be anything else? one simply cannot wish to be a straight line. but i wish books were. i wish but then they wouldn’t be the same and i would wish that they did not.
Trivia Trails #4