It’s one of those evenings. Well actually it will be morning in a matter of minutes. But I’m at a stage where I just want to discuss one of the thousands of thoughts abuzz in the abyss that is my over stuffed mind. For starters, this is another book post so if you are not a reader and do not comprehend the emotions and thoughts a series of strung together sentences can elicit, be off on the other adventures of the internet, whatever that may be.
You know on time consuming, completely unimportant, photo sharing websites like tumblr, there’s always those posts about a word that means and explain a feeling? No? It’s far too late/early for me to find an accurate example but they are usually pictures depicting in simple black text the word, its origin, and then underneath it will have its meaning in brackets. Generally the colour behind the word is white, and for some reason people (I too, am guilty here) think that this automatic display of fancy black text on white background must be legitimate and am swung into the thoughts and emotions said word erupts from deep inside my brain.
In all my years (because 17 makes me SO wise and mature), I have never come across a word that explains the feeling you (I’m assuming it is not only I who gets this emotion) get after reading the final page on a book. Not just any book though; it’s always one that has held you captivated for hours in bed. Bringing out a sore and stiff neck, an aching head and a thoughtful haze surrounding your tired, yet impossibly awake brain. It’s nights like these, where something as simple as a 400 page book can make me question my own motives, intentions and reasoning, and all my life choices so far, small as they may be.
If this word I’m searching for were as simple as stringing all the emotions I feel after reading such a novel it would be a messy potion with various amounts of melancholy, joy, heartache, longing (I’m not even sure what for), contentedness, happiness, sadness and desire. This feeling I’m trying to explain is overwhelming in the sense that there are too many emotions at one time. It’s hard to focus on one without feeling smothered by others. Try to focus on the happiness of the story and be reminded of the heartache. This feeling is both intriguing and frustrating, which really bothers me.
Why can’t it be simple? Why do we so often delve deep into the back of our minds to release such emotions just to feel something after reading a few words made up of a measly 26 letters? Do we secretly yearn for this feeling? Is the small vacation from reality really worth the feeling afterwards?
It definitely is. Books are like people or friends; there are some you can only see at good times, some you rely on during the bad and some you can spend time with no matter the time or place. This indescribable feeling, whilst confounding, makes reading worth while. Not all books can elicit such a response or such emotions, but a book that can make you feel joyous one minute and outraged the next must be worth it. Despite your arrogance to the characters/the plot and their decisions you put up with the bad just to keep turning the page hoping for the good. You end up wanting things to turn out well and you are upset when they don’t. A book that can bring out such emotions is like a dear friend; someone you can count on for am emotional response; good or bad that may be.
Again, this probably won’t make much sense later on in the morning but I’d love nothing more than to discuss the world with any old soul, whilst enjoying a warm frothy hot chocolate. Alas, most of Australia is asleep right now, and I don’t even have instant hot chocolate to carefully patch up the wounds my most recent read has opened up. My sore neck and cats will be my only (but wonderful) comfort till sleep finally takes me tonight. Dream well!
I hope everyone who is sleeping is sleeping well and that they dream of wonderful things.
If anyone knows of a word that explain the “feeling” I get after reading a good book, please do let me know.