the finishing

I finished a book tonight. It's such an exciting and sad thing, to end a story, to be forced to let the people who have become a part of your last few weeks just walk out the door. And it's not like you have a choice in the matter. Not finishing a book lets the characters roam around for extended time, but they also get real old and dusty and lose their luster. I get really anxious when I have about ten pages left to go. I start thinking about the next book that will fill the void and I have remind myself to get back in the moment of the current book. And then all of a sudden, my imagery friends have left me and I have closed the book after scouring the acknolwedgement page and dust jacket for every scrap or tidbit to keep the engery going, but it's no good. I wander back to me bed, alone and grab another book, turn it over in my hand. But, tonight I'm going to let the last book sit awhile before I start another one. I want to work over the changes in my own self that have occured on the journey the author took me on. I'm going to nestle down tonight on the shores of Bali and float in clear blue water with a bright pink flower in my hair.