Novelesinew

I love that after finishing a book, after reading and entire universe into existence, once you close that book you dissolve any notions and realities, at once so definite and true, are now simply a moment of past-tense importance and existence. No longer experience and current, but experienced and past.

You’re no longer run by those figures living that pre-destined lives. Those notions and ideals and no longer connected to you in that pure, string-of-words-sentenced-life, way for the connection has been severed. The result is both devastating and reviving. You are born out of this moment, out of the ashes of those figures and their lives. No longer run purely by the notions experienced in those pages, you, Reader, begin to live again. Connected by those experiences and threads of notions that contributed to the characters you read into existence: lived into existence, you are borne free, but those experiences and characters are written into your hard-wires and beings.

Each notion and act, every micro-expression and macro-act is written into your language and sinews. Those experiences you’re made to felt are your experiences now.

You lived those moments.

Have lived.

Live.

They consist of you, are of what you consist, thus you are made of these texts, the order you stack them forming your backbone into your own canonical mountain. Some will slip away, falling at the way-side in their lack of importance and your individuated ties to them, discarded and developed on, but echoes of their remnants still remain and ripple through you in your everyday existence.

Whoever said “merely a book” was unaware of the words that sewed their bones together into the body they are today.

♪: Manchester Orchestra