Dear Book: I’m Having Trouble Getting Through.
It’s not you, it’s me. Honestly. It’s finals and projects and the nice weather. It’s the fact that every time I open you up, it’s 1am and nothing makes sense (except possibly Tender Buttons by Gertrude Stein—that was the only time of day that one made any sense).
When I do get to you, I’m really enjoying reading you. The story is interesting, the writing is good, the characters are the greatest. But it’s something about the time of year that’s making me put you aside in favor of the cheap thrill of social media when I have time to read. It’s something about the difficulty of reading in the dining hall in general. It’s something about recognizing a need to talk to other humans occasionally (I mean, I don’t know why, but sometimes it’s fun).
I wish I had more time.
I picked you because you really are something special. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And one day I will finish you. Maybe in a month I’ll finally have a weekend when I can sit down and read you from the third chapter onwards, and I can see how the story ends. Maybe by the time your sequel comes out, I’ll have hit the halfway point. That could be okay—I’ll move seamlessly into the next book in the series.
But for now, this is a sort-of goodbye. An apology, if you’ll accept it. I hate to say it, but I need to prioritize right now. I hope you don’t mind just sitting on the sides and getting dusty for a little while. Trust me, this hurts me nearly as much as it does you, I’m sure of it.
I’ll miss you, book I’m having trouble getting through. But while this may be a break of sorts, it is not the end.
I’ll come back for you, I swear.