On the reading

The writing… I cant describe it I cant tell the feelings it brings forth in me. My heart races, my breath speeds, but not from pure adulation of reading. Nor from anticipation. I cannot pinpoint what I feel, but it speaks to me. Raw and unexplainable emotions fill me. Bouts of excitement, and simultaneous pain. Not physical, but the pain of one injured deep within. One, it frightens and excited me. Also makes me want to stop as if I know the climax already, yet prevents, forcing my eyes to remain on the lines of text. Words I know in phrases beyond my grasp, yet understood by the weight of each individual syllable.
I cry.
Unable to continue for now. I must put this chapter down, mark its place inside the literature I so desire to understand and comprehend. The tales from a mind much more capable than my own. Yet, seeming to be part of my destiny. Perhaps I simply need to feel more, embrace it rather than push it away.

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