Well, this is weird, last night I wrote a post, and then didn’t post it. The document was still open when I got up this morning. I just never put it online. I have no explanation for this.
There are no more words to be found; the book is over, the last page turned; this is the final dot. A blank, emptiness continues on where the black ink terminates—for a little time—but even this ends. There is nothing beyond; the story is done.
I put the book away and wander through the halls, feeling the haunting voice of the author whispering his benediction; I feel it in my stomach:
Depart and read again. I’ve loved other tales before. Dream again, and taste knew words.
How empty it is to finish a book one has really loved
Tale Told 