I'm not sure what time it was when I picked the book up when I went to bed. I didn't take note of what page I'd left off on this afternoon.

It's 3 AM now. It's been hours, I know that. I finished the book.

I've been crying. Trying-not-to-wake-my-girlfriend crying. It's weird, books don't make me cry. I rarely even read contemporaries. I don't even know why I picked this one up.

This may be one of my new favorite books. I want a copy of my own, not a library book.

I need to sleep but I'm not sure if I can yet.