Words escape me. Because how do you justify self pity? I am currently comforted by a kiss. A Hershey’s Kiss. I’d much rather be burning calories than consuming them, but such is life.

I’m anticipating something and it’s unsettling. I sit here, absorbed in a book that doesn’t help things at all. The book my mom always gets me for Christmas; the one I open for the traditional Christmas Eve gift. Every year, mom chooses a book for me to read and I usually start it the night before Christmas. I wasn’t able to this year for lack of time, but all day today, I haven’t been able to put it down. It’s a novel I don’t expect many literature-lovers to respect much, but I am enjoying it, nonetheless.

The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks. The same author of good ol’ A Walk to Remember, which happens to be another Christmas Eve present from four years ago. Thank you, mom. I read that one in less than five hours. The woman knows how to choose ’em.

Amidst it’s movie-like dialogue and typical confrontations, there are tid-bits that have snagged my attention. Due to something that I once knew. And despite the different circumstances, I know of the “passion” and “qualities” which Nick details about a particular character. It’s like you read a story and come across a character who reminds you so much of someone you know, you truly consider, “Maybe the author knows him too…”

It was the kind of life she’d always expected to live, the kind of life she wanted to live. And though she wouldn’t describe theirs as a passionate relationship, she had convinced herself long ago that this wasn’t necessary to be fulfilled in a relationship, even with a person she intended to marry. Passion would fade in time, and compatibility would take its place. She and Lon had this, and she had assumed this was all she needed. But now, as she watched Noah rowing, she questioned this basic assumption.


[Noah] was complicated, almost contradictory in so many ways, yet simple, a strangely erotic combination. On the surface he was a country boy, home from war, and he probably saw himself in those terms. Yet there was so much more to him. Perhaps it was the poetry that made him different, or perhaps it was the values his father had instilled in him, growing up. Either way, he seemed to savor life more fully than others appeared to, and that was what had first attracted her to him.

Mm-hmm… I know “Noah.” I know him from my dreams. And I suppose I’m waiting for him. And like the kiss that’s melting at the roof my mouth, so my heart becomes as soft and sweet and completely susceptible to being swallowed whole. If it hasn’t already…

I just hope for a happy birthday.

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