After this, I’ll move forward.

I’ll see this one through, I tell myself. I’ll finish it.

After this, I’ll put it to bed. After this, I’ll move forward.

I never close a book before opening another. Books sprawled around, opened on a page I’d yet to finish.

Some are halfway through, others were just getting started.

How many books have I closed? Really?


Finishing a book is stupid. When you finish it’s done. Over. Finis.

When you close it, it’s closed forever. Because you don’t beg. You don’t beg for it to reopen. You don’t beg the pages to let you in again.

No, instead, you open another book. You peruse the pages. You fray the edges and make it yours so that no one else can ever have it. At least not in the way you did.

If you never close the book, who else would want to read it?

Only someone else like you. Someone who starts everything, but never finishes anything.

You stop and start and stop and start but never end it.

You never end anything.

Finish the book. Close it. Move on.

Someone else wants to check it out now.

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