Letters from Skye by Jessica Brockmole has been a good read. I probably wouldn't think of borrowing from YY had I not seen him so engrossed in that book during the staycation. I think I really have a thing for epistolary novels. From Ahern's Where Rainbows End (or Love, Rosie) to Ava Dellaira's Love Letters to the Dead to this one that I just finished reading today. I really enjoyed all of them. In fact, I am still regretting having sold my Ahern's book away and I have been contemplating whether to stupidly get another one at Popular because the book is on display like everywhere and that is very tempting. The book is good in that it is a beautiful storyline, the typical one whereby people get what they have been waiting for their whole life. The last page, however, set me thinking that if all these happy endings are far too idealistic. I mean, what is the probability that you wait for someone your whole lifetime? And even if you do, what is the probability that you end up with this person? Of course, the story has to be made this way to entice readers, including myself. And I also realised, sometimes we probably really do take a lifetime to let go of certain things, don't we? There is still this friendship that I grab very tightly to. I have no idea what I did wrong to lose it, but I know I still grasp it as if it would come back to me. But I am thankful. For when it just slipped away, I spent 80% of my every single day mourning over it. Now, I still think about it almost every day, but, I believe it only takes up 20% of my brain. If what people always say makes sense, then I am going to leave it to time to help me get over it. After all, the past one year has left me too much to get over. This one more isn't a lot more to grapple with.
Whatever, one book is down and I wonder what book I should read next. These days it is so difficult to pick up a book that really brings me into the story. Rather, I haven't had a lot of time reading so when I do, I need a really exciting plot. By the way, while tomorrow marks the last day of my long weekend, I am actually glad that this weekend seems to be a very satisfying one. I don't remember the last time I actually felt a holiday was a holiday. To me, every single day had been yet another day since who-knows-when. I attributed that to the busy schedule since the start of this year. Or maybe, I have had too much on my mind that I never gave myself some time to relax. These two days I slept a lot, and am still constantly tired. But I like it that I actually had some time to myself to sit in MacDonald's for a packet of shaker fries, and some to sprawl on my bed to read a book. The weather, to add, has been a plus point. While I cannot bring myself to say that I have recharged myself during this long weekend, I think I have had a great one.
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