Hi, This is kind of a beginning to a story I have written, but I won't post it. So this is what's on here. A simple letter.
'I wish I could write.
No, I mean, really write. Be one of the amazing humans in the world like Khaled Hosseini who wrote "The kite runner." That book… that book changed my life. Every time I laid eyes on it I would have to concentrate not to cry. It still makes me so sad, and whenever I reflect upon it I feel absolutely horrible. All I can think is; "why?" why did it happen like it did, why couldn't I just have refused to read it? Why did I spend hours reflecting over it and crying over it?
And that's when it hit me. I couldn't stop thinking about it, obsessing with it, because it was a good book. No, it still is the best book I have ever read. It started this huge trail of emotions in me, nothing that has ever happened before. I have never, in my life, been so emotionally affected by a book. I got so attached to the characters, thinking how amazing some of them were that when something bad happened to one of them, the one I liked the most, I couldn't comprehend how it was possible. How such a good person could have so much bad in his life. And when it ended in disaster and I tried to keep reading, my eyes filled with so many tears I had to stop.
I couldn't pick up the book before the next day, in the evening after I had told myself it had to be done. It was a school assignment to read it, and I just wanted to get it over with.
We had to write a review on it later on, after everyone had read it and I had written an almost short review, something that is very unlike me. But I was angry at the teacher for giving us such a book to read. I was livid! Because of that woman I had been sitting at home reflecting and crying over something that could just as easily never have been read! I could have lived such a great life without that book, you have no idea. So when I finally sat down to write a review on the book the first sentence I wrote sounded like this:
I regret ever reading this book, it has made my life miserable and I hate my teacher for making me read it.
It was childish and untrue ways of making the teacher see how stupid she had been because she had been so smart getting us to read it, even I knew that deep down, but I had done everything for her to see how much I hated it. Hated the feelings I got from it. She must have laughed so much when she read that, thinking that she had done her job, that it proved I had been affected, which it did. How great right?
Nothing will ever compare to the words I read those two days, they were used together in such a good way! They danced with each other, entranced and loved. They made their sentences alive, made us understand, made us connect. That's why I loved that book and that's why I know I'll never read anything like it again.
Thanks for reading! :D